The Revised Chronicles of Those Who Lived
by fire and napalm
Summary: Rewrite - AU. The war ended - Voldemort simply vanished. Harry and Neville are alive and unmarked, best friends, attending Hogwarts with the unproven prophecy and family expectations on their shoulders. Harry's determined to prove them wrong.
1. Prologue & Chapter 1

The Revised Chronicles

Of

Those-Who-Lived

**Prologue:**

The dark-haired man threw the small gate open, glancing past the house to the dark sky. It was one o'clock in the morning on the first of November. The little cottage sat quietly in the lane. He barely had time to think; he was too frightened, too _scared_ as he pounded on the front door.

A light flicked on upstairs. The man kept pounding until the locks on the door were open and he stared into the hazel eyes of his friend.

"Sirius!" James rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "What is it, what happened?"

"You have to get out!" Sirius gasped. "Peter's gone."

"Gone?" James backed up, ushering Sirius in. He looked across the yard, wand held loosely in hand. Shutting the door quickly, he demanded, "Was he taken?"

Sirius forced the answer past his numb lips. "I was just at his house. There was no sign of a struggle. You have to leave. I think the Fidelius Charm is gone."

"James?" Both men turned to stare up the stairs. James' red-haired wife cradled their sleeping son close to her chest, frowning. "What is it?"

James had to cough before he could speak. "Peter is gone. There was no sign of a struggle, and the Fidelius may be down. We have to leave. Now!"

"Leave?" She came down the steps briskly. "The… What happened?"

"It looks like we found the traitor," Sirius spat, "and he's tried to hand you over."

Lily's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but someone else pounded on the door. Sirius and James exchanged looks.

"The other wards are still up," James answered, "but the door…"

Sirius didn't move from watching the door. "We need a way out. They must have followed me here."

"Where?" Lily demanded. "Where do we go?"

Sirius glanced quickly at James.

"Potter Manor," James answered. "It's the safest place after this. It's safer now without the Fidelius. Get upstairs! Sirius, do something to that door and the stairs and follow. I'll start taking down the wards so we can get out."

Lily pressed her lips shut tight and hurried into the hall. James found her in the nursery, looking through the toy box one-handed.

"What are you looking for?"

"The emergency Portkey. It's gone."

"Lily... Peter knew," James answered regretfully. "He knew, and he would have taken it or disabled it. Especially if he was going to leak our location."

"How are we getting out, then?"

"I'll take down the wards and Apparate. Just stay behind me."

Lily turned on him with a glare. "I am not in need of protection –"

"I know that, Lily, but Harry is." James grabbed her shoulders. "Protect our son, Lily. For me."

Lily took a deep breath and nodded. Hitching her son on her shoulder again, she smiled wanly as Sirius came in from the hallway. The front door smashed, and firecrackers began to go off in earnest.

"James, the wards!" he gasped.

James nodded and closed his eyes, his wand held loosely in his hands before him. Lily kept a hand lightly on his shoulder, watching the window while Sirius kept his eyes on the door. It was a long minute, with men cursing and explosions of all kinds coming from the front room. Sirius was layering spells on the door as they waited; within a few minutes, James brought his wand up and a brush of cold went over their skin – the wards were down.

James' hand closed on hers as he turned towards her, but before he could – in that same second – the crack of Apparation announced two men, eager to kill. Sirius hexed them in the seconds before the tight tunnel of Apparation took her away. She struggled for breath through the tight press of travel as she clutched her son tight.

Coming out of it, she staggered in a large foyer. The marble floor shone, the windows were shaded against the night, and a house-elf popped in with bright, wide eyes.

"Master Potter! How good to see you, Master Potter; how can humble Findley help you, Master Potter?"

James smiled, his eyes distracted. Sirius appeared five seconds later, holding his left arm close. James spun and smacked the back of his head.

"What were you _thinking_, Sirius? You were supposed to follow immediately!"

Sirius gave his friend a weak grin. "Had to keep them from wrapping a hand around your ankles. It took me a minute to get a spare moment after that."

"Idiot!" James snarled. "I'm not losing another friend because you can't take the time to think straight! What if Voldemort had shown up? What then?"

Sirius pushed James off and glared back. "I'd have kept at it until I could be sure you were away safely before I high-tailed it myself! You're as good as my brother, James, so don't you argue –!"

"_Boys_!" Lily screamed. They ground to a halt and stared at her. Lily tapped her foot impatiently. "You have almost woken Harry. I am tired, scared for my life, and in a strange house. There are people who need to be informed; Sirius, everyone thinks you were our Secret-Keeper – you have to go tell Dumbledore before someone else finds Peter gone and panics. Now, I, for one, want my bed and my husband. If we are indeed safe, then I would like to take time to avail myself of both. You may continue this argument when the sun comes up, but until then, I think both my son and I would like to sleep while I try to come to grips with having my life upended once more."

James deflated immediately and stepped away from Sirius to pull her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Lily, I forgot."

"I think I can survive." She sniffed softly. "But I need you, James. Just hold me."

"Sirius, do you want to stay in one of the spare rooms before you go? Just send an owl to Dumbledore – you know how to encrypt it."

Sirius murmured an agreement and addressed Findley, the elf, before leaving. James held Lily a little tighter.

"It's your first time back here, isn't it?" Lily asked softly. "You haven't been here since your parents died."

James nodded against her shoulder. "It's hard, but only to be expected. It's just... it's been two years." He buried his head closer. "Two years, and yet…"

"I know," Lily murmured. "I know." Her own parents had died around the same time, in a car accident. His, at least, had just grown old. The timing, however, left much to be desired – they had been engaged, then, but not married. The war had forced their hands to move on in spite of it all.

James laughed softly. "And here we are, in our great… what did you call it?"

"Great draughty house built to rival Hogwarts?"

He laughed even louder. "It's not that big!"

"How am I going to keep an eye on my son in this place?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "He'll start getting lost as soon as he can walk!"

"That's what the house-elves are for. We have three here." James grinned again. "Merlin knows I had to be found by them more than a few times."

Lily tried to smile and failed. "I don't like it." Her lips trembled.

James brushed a hand over her cheek and smiled faintly. "I'm sorry, Lily. We have to be safe somewhere. This is the only place I know. We'll make it work, I promise... and one of these days, Voldemort will be gone."

"If only," Lily muttered, running her hand through her son's hair. "If only."

Dumbledore had told them her son was the one who might – only might – be destined to defeat Voldemort. It was all he said he could tell them, but that they had to go into hiding to keep them – him – safe. They had to defend themselves. They had to fight back.

They had.

Look where it had gotten them.

Lily quietly followed James upstairs, humming softly to her son, who was sleeping quietly in her arms; he had slept through it all.

**Chapter One: **

"Nanna, c'mon! You'll see me at Christmas!" Harry Potter gently pulled his sister's hair as he smiled down at her. "As if I'd choose school over you!"

The little black-haired girl scowled at her brother. Harry gave her a brilliant grin and shoved her shoulder gently. She punched him back and scowled. "You'd better come home, or I'll –"

"What?" Harry grinned. "Steal the socks I left behind?"

Before she could retaliate this time, Harry slipped away and grabbed his father's sleeve. Harry grinned; he really liked seeing his dad in his Auror uniform – even better was having him there on Platform 9 ¾. While the Ministry were still concerned about possible Dark Magic attacks, nothing had happened for nine years. Harry doubted anything ever would, but if it meant he could have his father see him off to Hogwarts, he was all for it: the Ministry gave all Aurors with Hogwarts-aged children the morning off to see their kids on the train before coming in to work. The uniform was optional, but James always wore it, and so did Frank Longbottom. Frank's wife, Alice, usually did not.

The Longbottoms hadn't arrived yet, however, and Harry was getting bored without his best friend. He could only tease his sister so much.

"Dad, can you get my trunk onto the train now?"

James grinned down at him. "Sure, where do you want it?"

"Nearest the front as possible!"

James scanned the cars and frowned. "It's pretty full… There we go! Right in the middle!" Grinning, his father burst into a sprint behind the cart, shouting at the crowd to move to let him get right up next to the train. Harry ran after him, grinning and dodging a few irate people in his father's wake. Coming around his side, Harry jumped to the steps and swung up inside.

He cracked heads with another boy his age. Harry hung onto the wall and slid down to his knees, swearing, as the other boy fell backwards. The boy kicked him.

"What the Hell were you doing, you idiot?"

Harry straightened his glasses and punched the strange black-haired boy's knee in return. "You're the one who was bloody hiding! What are you doing in my compartment?"

"Your compartment?" Black eyes bored holes in his skull; his accent was pissing Harry off. He was definitely not British. "I was here first! Get the Hell out!"

Harry stood up and stomped his foot. "Fine! Be that way, you bloody arsehole!"

"Harry!" James called. "Stop that right now. The next compartment down is empty; you don't need to pick a fight."

Harry sent another glare at the other boy and stalked out and around to his father. James frowned at him.

"You don't need to pick a fight, Harry. You didn't know he was there. Be more careful next time; accidents happen."

Rubbing his forehead, Harry nodded. His head was getting a little sore.

James pulled his wand and tapped him on the crown, frowning. He smiled slightly. "Just a bruise, Harry. No harm done."

Harry grinned. "Mother would say it's because I've got your hard skull."

"Your mother may very well be right." James gave him a wide grin. "Does this compartment meet your needs, then?"

Harry jumped up and turned the corner more cautiously to look inside. "Yep. No strange brats hiding in here."

"Alright then, slip aside while I haul up your trunk. You only put in enough books to make that a touch hard."

Harry grinned and skipped out. "That's because of Neville, Dad, not me. If he'd put all his books in his own, even his dad wouldn't be able to lift it alone."

James grinned from lifting the trunk. Harry eyed him and laughed.

"Dad, you're lying! Mother made my trunk feather-weight, didn't she?"

"Nope." James slipped up the steps and stowed the trunk before sticking his head out the window and winking. "I did it. Like a feather-weight charm could best me."

Harry grinned and made a note to ask Neville about those charms when he arrived. Neville knew way more about spells than he did.

He noticed immediately when James straightened and ducked back out of the compartment. He nodded to the wrought-iron entrance, and Harry turned and burst into a grin. He took off at a sprint through the crowd, darting between people's legs until he reached where his mother was still chatting with a woman he didn't know, Nanna standing at her side. Just beyond her, he darted into a circle and then moved to tackle his best friend.

At the last moment, Neville took three quick steps back, and Harry ran smack into his godmother's knee. Alice Longbottom quickly regained her balance and glanced down. Recognizing him as he grinned sheepishly up at her, she mussed up his hair before he could escape. He scrambled away in time to back into Neville. Neville swatted the back of his head and grinned.

"What was that for?" Harry whined.

"Trying to tackle me. Do you have a seat? Where is it?"

Harry stuck out his tongue and ran for the compartment, being sure not to mistakenly try the one ahead. Neville shouted at his father and followed, seeing where Harry was going and running ahead of him to leap up the steps. He ran into the inside door and rattled it, laughing.

"Nice, Harry! This is awesome!" He spun around to grin at him, blowing sandy hair out of his face. "We're going to _Hogwarts_!"

"Yeah, yeah, fish boy."

"I am not a fish!"

"Says the kid who turned all the koi blue!"

"I didn't turn them all blue!"

"He is right, Harry." Frank came up behind him and quickly added, "Shoo." Harry moved to the inner door quickly and let him pass. Once he'd hefted the trunk up – Neville's wasn't under feather-weight – Frank turned and shook his finger at Harry before winking and adding, "He turned them several colours other than blue as well, remember?"

"Dad!" Neville objected and ran out the door after him. Frank raced to hide behind James as Neville ran circles around him, easily keeping pace with his father.

Harry hung out the door to watch, grateful again that Neville was going to Hogwarts with him. He'd been scared for years that Neville wouldn't join him there, no matter what his parents said. Harry had been plainly magical since he was two years old; Neville hadn't shown magic until he was eight. His extended family had been miserable about it, especially once his siblings had both shown magic before him. He'd been scared he'd be going to school without his best friend.

Now, he was scared about different things.

Shrugging off the thought, Harry ran up and tackled Neville again under his own mother's nose. Lily picked them both up by their shirts and glared. "Behave, both of you! Enough horsing around; you'll be falling asleep on your dinner plates at this rate!"

"Yes, Mum," Harry piped up.

"Yes, godmother," Neville repeated, hiding a grin.

Harry elbowed him; Neville elbowed him right back, snickering. Frank looked up with a sigh and then beamed.

"Hey, it's the Weasleys!"

Harry straightened and ducked behind Neville. Alice eagerly waved down Molly, and a flurry of movement through the crowd preceded Ron racing forward. Neville sidestepped at the last moment; so did Harry. Ron caught Harry's sleeve and hauled himself to a stop, nearly pulling him over. Harry tugged free and grinned at him.

"Haven't you done that enough?"

"Nope," Ron grinned. "You've nearly fallen four times now."

"Stop it!"

"Nope."

"I said stop it!"

"Knock him off his broom already," Neville ordered.

Harry gave him a wounded look. "If I try that, he'll just use you as a shield."

"So?"

"You fall off your broom enough times without my help."

Neville still shrugged, grinning. "I repeat, so?"

Harry stepped back and smacked the back of his head. Lily put a hand on their shoulders and then hugged Harry.

"Enough, boys. Go show Ron the compartment and get up there. We'll be seeing you off soon enough."

Harry sighed and waved Ron towards the compartment, James picking up his trunk and waving him forward before discreetly adding a feather-weight charm. Harry glanced back from the door in time to see Frank direct a comment at James and get a rude gesture in return as James lifted the trunk one-handed.

With Ron present, the compartment was full of boyish energy and three trunks in the overhead compartments. James dusted off his hands and hugged Harry once more; Alice had caught her son on his way by. Ron stepped down to see off his mother, while Neville waved out the window. Harry hesitated before doing the same, hanging out to his waist to wave at his father. James came quickly over to haul him close enough to peck his cheek and ruffle his hair.

"Careful with the window, son. Don't need you falling out."

Harry grinned. "Just practising being a Gryffindor."

James grinned wickedly. "Too true. Make me proud, Harry."

Harry forced a smile. "I intend to."

IIII

They chattered about their Diagon purchases until the witch with the trolley came, thankfully giving Harry a break from answering questions about Hedwig, his new owl. She had been a birthday present gotten while they were at Diagon: a pretty snowy owl that Ron was openly jealous of. Harry just shrugged it off – who was he going to write to? – and finally managed to alter the conversation onto Neville.

"How did you talk Melanie into staying home?"

"Mother already had Emmeline Vance over watching Connor, so she just threw Melanie in as well; she was going to be going straight to work anyways after seeing me off. She was one of those chosen to look into the Gringotts break-in, remember? They're having a Hell of a time getting any answers out of the goblins, even with her actually being polite." Neville rubbed his forehead. "I think she's been yelling at Dumbledore non-stop, says it was a vault of someone he knew that had apparently been emptied on his word."

"Weird." Harry shrugged. "So is that why they brought Aurors in, because it had something to do with Dumbledore?"

"Far as I can tell."

Ron shrugged, stealing a Chocolate Frog from the pile beside Harry. "Bill says the goblins don't like working with wizards."

Neville laughed. "Judging from the temper my mother is in, that's true. She's been a right terror for the past few weeks; Connor hasn't left me alone, trying to find something to do." Neville glanced at Ron sidelong. "How's your new wand?"

Ron grinned. "I can't wait to try it out! What about yours?"

Neville drew his from the holster at his side and tucked it behind his ear, leaning back casually. "It's pretty good." He glanced at the door and didn't speak further. Harry fingered his own up his sleeve. He and Neville had gotten the holsters from their parents. They were made to go on the forearm, but could just as easily hang at the waist – especially since their forearms were still too small for the much longer wands.

Ron's eager face turned to Harry, glancing at his holster. Harry made a note to mention it to his parents; he felt uncomfortable when Ron kept looking at his things zealously. He'd rather nip the complaint in the bud, as it silenced Ron faster than trying to argue him down when he wasn't feeling up to it. Harry smiled thinly at Ron and tilted his head back, remembering…

"_Curious, how very curious_… _I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter_. _After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things_…_ terrible, yes, but great_."

Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather. Ollivander had given his parents a long, searching look before speaking those words, and Harry had felt his heart tighten. The similarities were poppycock, of course, maybe _something_ – small.

But it ended there.

There was a commotion out in the hall; someone yelped, and Harry heard a voice he hated on instinct shout,

"Watch where you're going, mudblood!"

Neville was already on his feet, but Harry was the one who pulled open the door, wand in hand, to glare up the corridor. As he'd expected, Draco Malfoy's blond rat-like head was glaring at a bushy-haired girl their age, his two thick-headed goons beside him: Crabbe and Goyle. Harry had run into the three often enough at Ministry functions. They didn't get along.

"I wasn't the one who bumped into you!" the girl objected. "I wasn't _trying_ to get in your way!"

"You're _trying_ to go somewhere you don't belong," Malfoy drawled. "Maybe you should just get off the train!"

"Leave her alone, Malfoy!" Harry snarled. "Before I hex you!"

Malfoy turned to glare at him and sneered. "Oh look, it's Potter. Did daddy come to see you off to school, all decked out in scarlet?"

Harry matched him look for look. "Did your dad have time to show up, or was he too busy licking Ministry boot heels to spare the time?" Harry raised his wand. "At least my dad has a _real_ job!"

Malfoy opened his mouth, his own wand coming up when the door of the compartment next to them slammed open. The black-haired boy Harry had run into at the station poked his head out, snarled wordlessly and ducked back inside.

"Hey!" he shouted. "You, wake up!"

Harry could see, just past him, a young woman with curly, dark hair. She appeared to be asleep, but she was wearing a Gryffindor robe and a red-and-gold Prefect pin. Someone out of sight kicked her seat and she came up with a snort.

"What is it?" she demanded.

From the corner of his eye, Harry glimpsed Malfoy also listening to the byplay carefully. When Harry glanced over to try and hear the rest, however, Malfoy sent a hex his way. Quickly, Harry ducked – someone behind him swore as they got hit with the spell.

"_Enough_!" The black-haired girl leaned out of the compartment door to glare between them. "If you two don't go your separate ways in five seconds, heads will roll!" Glancing past Harry, she pointed a finger. "You! Weasley. Tell your brother about this so I don't have to. He can level the punishments. Now scat. I was _sleeping_!"

The girl was gone abruptly, and the young black-haired boy stuck his head out again. Malfoy, red in the face and angry, snarled, "Great, more mudbloods who don't know their place. My father will hear of this!"

The boy blinked at the comment and tilted his head. "Like I care, milkface! Come up with a new insult; that one's pathetic and weaker than dried clay. Go pick your fight somewhere else, or I'll wake the Prefect again!" He slammed the door shut hard enough to make the window opposite rattle. Draco's face was scarlet as he sneered and stalked back up the corridor. The bushy-haired girl he'd first lit into was still staring, startled, at the door that had just slammed shut.

Harry spoke up. "You okay over there?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "What was that all about?"

Harry grimaced. "Are you muggleborn?" She nodded cautiously, coming over. Harry made a face; Neville elbowed him from behind and stepped up, smiling. Harry bit down a rude comment and leaned against the doorframe as Neville spoke – Neville was better at explaining than he was.

"That boy was Draco Malfoy; he's a spineless little Flobberworm who thinks because his family is noble he can walk over anyone who isn't, especially muggleborns – that's what he meant by 'mudblood'. He's one of a bunch of arrogant toe-rags with such idiotic delusions, but me and Harry here are the nicer people who don't care. Harry's mother is muggleborn, in fact, even though his father is probably more noble than the Malfoys."

"Nobles?" The girl raised her eyebrows.

"Well, sort of." Neville scratched his head. "That's what we like to call it, but I don't think it's anything to do with the Queen. Our Ministry mostly coordinates with the Prime Minister, rather than the Monarchy, but our Ministry has its own nobility and history too." He held out his hand. "Neville Longbottom."

The girl smiled. "Hermione Granger. Are your parents the Aurors mentioned in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts?_"

Neville nodded and turned pink, reclaiming his hand. Harry reluctantly offered his own. "Harry Potter."

Her eyes lit up. "Pleased to meet you."

Before she could ask, Harry added, "Yes, my father is James Potter, Order of Merlin First Class, from the same book." Like he didn't know _that_.

Neville pushed Ron forward, fortunately distracting Hermione, with her gleaming eyes, promising far more questions than Harry wanted to answer, especially right now. Hermione turned to Ron, and he turned bright red as he offered his hand. "Ron Weasley."

"Pleased to meet you too." She turned back to Harry and Neville, but a look at Harry's face silenced her. She gave him a tremulous smile and offered, "I'll see you at Hogwarts, then?"

Harry nodded, managing a smile. "Sure."

She nodded as well, and Harry retreated back into the compartment, shutting the door with relief. Neville offered him a liquorice wand, which he took and chewed irritably. He hated all the notoriety his parents had. It meant he had to keep answering questions about them this and them that. He was tired of it, and he'd lived with it his whole life!

Ron hesitantly offered, "So, are you both thinking we'll be in the same house as her?"

"She's probably a Ravenclaw," Neville shrugged. "She sounds like someone who looks for books first, you know."

"Good company for you," Harry offered caustically.

"Stop biting my head off."

"Make me."

Neville pulled his wand down from his ear and hexed him. Harry fought down the sniggers of the tickling charm to cancel it and threw the same spell back; it was blocked and rebounded to mark a black spot on Harry's trunk. Harry's friend just stuck his tongue out in return. Harry stood and fished inside his trunk for a book, pulling out his robes while he was at it. The other two boys stood up after him and did the same. Changed, Harry threw himself onto the seat and began to read, mirrored by Neville. The owl gave a soft cry, and Ron reached out to pet her, staring out the window at the darkening sky as they waited to arrive at Hogwarts.

IIII

…_So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a thinking cap!"_

"So we just gotta try on the hat!" Ron whispered from beside Harry. "I'll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry tried to smile, he really did, but it didn't want to come. His hands were feeling sweaty, and his legs trembled; if he could have been anywhere but the front of the Great Hall, he'd have gotten on his knees and hidden. This wasn't the kind of Sorting he wanted. Wrestling a troll he could probably have managed, but having his mind read made him feel sick.

He'd been hiding himself for three years now. He didn't look up the line at Neville; his best friend knew he'd be feeling nervous. It would probably only make it worse to be near him, though. Neville hadn't had any patience with his fears for a few years now, or the entirety of the ride on the Express.

Maybe if Neville got into Ravenclaw he could try for that house. Well, if the Sorting Hat could be talked around, at any rate.

Harry watched the Sorting, and he grew steadily more nervous. "Granger, Hermione" went into Gryffindor after a minute. Neville took a few minutes to get sorted himself, but he ended up in Gryffindor in the end, looking a little shocked. Harry grinned and clapped eagerly. That worked for Neville. He'd enjoy being in Gryffindor.

Malfoy went into Slytherin before the Hat even settled on his head. Harry's stomach dropped. He focused on watching the other students get sorted, most of the kids he knew from the Ministry.

"Potter, Harry."

Swallowing, Harry slipped the hat over his eyes and waited with bated breath.

"Ah, what a clever little boy you are!" a small voice whispered in his ear. "You are very quick, with such a ruse –"

'_I'm not going into Slytherin_!' Harry thought hard and loud at the hat. '_I'm no Slytherin_!'

"You know very well what you are –"

'_I'm not going_!'

"A house doesn't decide who you are, Mr Potter," the hat responded indignantly, "your house is where you can become your best with your own qualities." The hat mumbled for a minute, and then stopped. Harry could guess what it had found. "Now hating your house, however, is indeed a struggle, but you may very well grow into it –"

He _couldn't_ go into Slytherin. '_Anything_! _I'll do anything to stay out of there_!'

The hat hummed thoughtfully, and finally said, "Well… we might have a deal. _If_ you promise me one thing."

'_Sure_.' It wasn't like he could be re-Sorted, anyways.

It felt like the hat sighed into his ear. "I've heard the list, Harry Potter, and I know something about the next boy and his history. You would do well to become the friend of the boy Sorted after you. Perhaps then you can get over your fear." With another sigh, Harry felt the hat straighten. "Mind you, Potter, always remember, your house _should have been_ Slytherin."

Harry couldn't breathe until the hat shouted, "_Gryffindor_!"

Staggering to his feet, Harry hurried to join Neville and the Weasley twins at the Gryffindor table. He sat down and quickly turned to see who would be called next. Just who was it so important he be friends with?

"Prince, Alan."

Harry's stomach tightened as the black-haired boy he'd run into on the train sat on the stool. He remained there for about a minute before the hat called out, with damning certainty, "_Slytherin_!"

The boy went to the Slytherin table and paused, looking across the Hall. They locked eyes for a long moment, bright green with hard black. The Slytherin sneered and dropped into a chair, out of sight. Harry settled back, ignoring Neville's question as he frowned.

Alan Prince did not like him.

As far as Harry was concerned, the feeling was mutual.

IIII

Hogwarts reminded Harry of Potter Manor – just with a lot more to it. Turns and hallways continued for a long time without any identifying characteristics of where one might be. Harry got so hopelessly lost after Herbology the first day that he, Ron, and Neville didn't make it to their next class until it was halfway done. After that, however, he did a fair bit better, getting to classes only a little bit late as he figured out where they all were.

Astronomy was every Wednesday, late in the evening. Herbology was a pain – Neville was a natural at potting and repotting, trimming and feeding the plants, in contrast to Hermione's textbook knowledge. He let her answer the questions, as he finished the work first, much to Harry and Ron's annoyance.

History sent him to sleep, only to be woken by Neville's book finally falling on his arm as Neville also succumbed halfway through the class after Hermione had stopped poking him. Flitwick was ecstatically happy to have them in his class, alert and curious (especially after they'd all napped in History the period before).

Going into class with McGonagall, it didn't matter what you'd been up to before then – her presence made them all sit up straight and keep silent. Harry eagerly watched her come in; his father had loved her class. He couldn't wait to see how well he'd do. He got a thrill of excitement at her introduction; when Neville leaned forward and put his hands flat on the desk, he knew he'd felt the same.

By the end of class, however, Neville was poking his matchstick irritably, as it still hadn't done anything. Harry felt a little better seeing that. Hermione was the only one in class to have made a difference in her match. Neville wandered out thoughtfully as Harry hurried to get to work on the homework to see if it helped matters any.

Defence left him sick with disappointment. The class had smelled bad, and Quirrell had been scared of his own shadow. Harry suspected he'd learn more having Neville tackle the books with him than listening to Quirrell go on about nothing.

Friday morning, Harry was at the table, poking his food as Ron and Neville debated their week so far. He caught Prince coming in to breakfast, his books in his arms and his chin up. It was easy to guess why; Harry had spotted him a few times this week, and each time, he'd had a shadow in the form of the last boy to be sorted: tall, black Blaise Zabini. Harry vaguely knew him: his mother was notorious for something he couldn't remember, and Zabini had always been as arrogant as Malfoy. That he was stalking Prince couldn't be good, and it appeared Prince agreed in that regard. He stubbornly started breakfast without paying any attention to Zabini sitting next to him at all.

"Harry, I have bacon and I'm not afraid to use it."

Straightening, Harry pinned Neville with a glare. "What?"

"Potions. Slytherin. And a double class to boot." Neville gestured expansively. "Snape is friends with your mother, right? Does that mean we get any leeway?"

Harry snorted. "What, you think Snape might like me because of my mother? He hates my guts; I'm too much like my father. The only people Snape favours are his Slytherins."

"Wish McGonagall favoured _us_," Ron groused. Harry smiled at him to avoid the uncomfortable look Neville sent his way.

It wasn't long before Harry pulled Ron away from the last of his breakfast to make their way into the dungeons. They got lost, entered the wrong classroom, and finally found the one in question. Snape was already at his desk and quickly froze them with a glare. Harry met him look for look and got a short snort for his efforts.

"How excellent to see the children of our Aurors getting off to such a… prompt… start."

Harry ground his teeth, looking around. Most of the desks were full and, to boot, they had an uneven number of students in Slytherin. The only people sitting alone were Hermione and Prince – neither of whom he was eager to sit with. Snape also glanced around.

"Weasley, Longbottom... would you join Miss Granger? Mr Potter, you can work with Prince." A short glance to the other black-haired boy made Harry grind his teeth. Slamming his bag down, Harry sat back and crossed his arms, furious. Of course he'd feel sorry for the Slytherin brat! Never mind him, stuck with some –

"Potter!" Prince hissed. Harry glanced up from his fuming and raised his eyebrows. "Put your stuff in order! I'm not going to lose a grade because I'm stuck with an incompetent fool!"

Irate, Harry dumped his stuff on the table. Prince hissed under his breath before Professor Snape cleared his throat, sparing Harry a hot glare before returning his attention to the front. Harry felt a pinch at the mess; as he listened to Snape take the register, he organized his things so he could find them.

With the register done, Snape stared across the class and commanded all attention. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

His eyes ended up scanning deliberately past Harry and towards the Gryffindor side of the classroom. Harry stifled his desire to snort and glanced over at Prince – he took a quick second look. Prince was staring at Snape as though he were something bizarre and crazy.

"Potter!" Harry jumped and turned to stare wide-eyed at Snape. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Added what to what? Harry blinked for a moment and then glanced at him leerily. He'd probably read it somewhere, but it wasn't clicking. "Something for the stomach?" he guessed. Wormwood was for stomach ache, right?

Snape snorted. "Clearly you have not read your books at great length." Harry bristled; he had so! "Longbottom, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Under his breath, Harry answered, "The ingredients cabinet."

He thought he might have heard Prince stifle a laugh.

Neville, however, took only a moment to think it through and then smile. "Stomach of a goat, sir. It's a hairball."

Snape's sneer lowered a hair. "Indeed. It will save you from most poisons, as well. Potter!" Harry's head snapped up and he glared. Snape only smiled thinly. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Was he going easy on him suddenly? "Nothing, sir. They're both names for aconite." He smiled slightly. "It's highly poisonous, too."

Snape fought his lips and kept it to a glower. "Very good." He moved back to his desk and barked, "Why are none of you copying this down? Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood creates a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. Bezoars and aconite are not toys for first-years to play with."

The lecture continued, and they came around to working in pairs to create a simple boil cure. Harry went to get the ingredients – Prince _had_ asked politely – but he dropped them down hard. Prince's lip curled.

"Don't break the damn things! Merlin, Mary, and Mordred." He pushed a bowl in front of Harry and glanced up to his face. "Crush the snake fangs. I'll start the potion." He stood and reached for the nettles on the far end of the table. He was so small he barely managed. When he sat back down, he glanced at Harry's work. Harry stuck out his tongue and ground the pestle harder, watching him add salt to the water and stir it with one hand while weighing the dried nettles with the other.

Prince spoke up and startled him. "They need to be finer. Stop getting distracted."

Harry pushed aside his interest in Prince's work and ground the fangs hard against the bowl.

They worked together for the potion, Prince asking him to prepare the ingredients as he added and stirred and doing parts himself when his hands were free. Harry refused to be impressed with how deft he was; if he could do it himself why didn't he? Harry stopped when Prince asked him to stew the horned slugs and hissed, "Why do _I _have to do it?"

Prince glanced up from adding the porcupine quills and raised his eyebrows. "I didn't _ask_ to be your partner!"

"I didn't ask to get stuck with you either, Prince! Stop ordering me around. If you're so picky, why don't you just do it all yourself?"

"I'm supposed to be working with you –"

"Well I don't want to work with a spoiled rotten brat!" Harry shouted.

The students nearby looked up quickly. Harry heard Snape start in on him, but it had nothing on Prince's flush of anger. The Slytherin growled, teeth bared and grabbed a bowl from beside the cauldron to toss it straight in.

A plume of grey smoke roared out of the cauldron and splattered against the ceiling. Harry staggered off his chair and fell backwards, his eyes and nose stinging in the thick, grey fog.

"_Damn you,_ boy!" Snape snarled. "Stay in your seats!" There was a pause, and then Snape growled, "_Evanesco_." The smoke disappeared, and the class began to straighten themselves out, some coughing or wiping at streaming eyes. Prince had also fallen out of his chair and was tentatively blinking his eyes, his hands hovering carefully. Tears streamed down his bright red face.

Snape stalked up to their table and glared at Harry. "Move!"

Harry didn't argue, quickly stepping aside and scrubbing at his eyes, which were beginning to water as well.

"Stop that, Potter," Snape ordered as he hauled Prince to his feet. He released Prince near him and moved to point by the door before snarling and turning.

"Longbottom, Weasley. Go with them to the hospital wing. _Prince_ can tell her what happened; one of you is to come back with the supplies to abate this for the entire class. The other will remain with these two and keep them in one piece. Go!"

Harry didn't argue after the first order. His things should be fine. When Ron and Neville hesitated, Harry growled, "C'mon!" He pulled open the door and moved into the hallway, but his vision blurred behind his glasses. He paused, and Neville came up and put his hand on his shoulder.

"You alright?"

"Can't see. My eyes keep watering."

"So do mine. Hey, Ron!"

They looked back. Ron was waiting impatiently for Prince, who had staggered against a wall, coughing. Harry frowned. Prince had been right over the cauldron: at fault or not, he'd have gotten a face full of that smoke.

Harry glanced back at Neville for only a second before walking back to him. Ron made a disgusted sound as he passed, but Harry ignored him to grab Prince's shoulder.

Prince tugged away. "I'm _fi –_" His answer was lost in another fit of coughing. "Stupid students," he whispered, once he could breathe.

Harry pulled him up anyways. "I'm not taking forever to get to the hospital wing because you can't walk," he informed him. "And Snape would kill me if I left you behind, so c'mon."

Neville came up on Prince's other side without asking and took that arm. Prince tried to pull away and dissolved into coughing and swearing again before he submitted and let them help him keep his feet.

It was a good thing Harry had quickly made note of where the hospital wing was. Once they reached the Entrance Hall, he could direct them right there. Madam Pomfrey scowled at them immediately.

"My word, you took some time. Sit down, sit down, what's wrong?"

"Snape said Prince knew." Ron glared at the boy.

Pomfrey raised her eyebrows, and Prince coughed again before answering, "Threw lettece teeth in early. There," he hacked again, "was probably a contamination of hen's teeth too, or it wouldn't be so caustic." He dissolved into coughing once more, his hands hovering fitfully near his eyes. Harry dropped his hand from rubbing his own. Prince appeared to know what he was doing with potions and their accidents. It wasn't like it was helping.

Madam Pomfrey swelled with indignation. "Well then!" She disappeared into her office.

Ron looked around and then hollered, "Professor Snape wants some for the whole class!"

"Keep your voice down!" the nurse yelled back.

She came back a few minutes later and glanced between the four of them. "Now then, do either of you have sore eyes?"

"Sort of," Neville answered. "Harry's the worst, he was sitting with Prince so they both got it bad."

"I don't," Ron answered. "My throat's just sore."

"Hmm." Pomfrey sorted the box and pulled out three phials to show them. "These for the eyes, if they're watering. This," she pulled out a second, "to be drunk for the throat. Professor Snape will know how to apply them. If you have only a sore throat," she tilted out some of the phial into a cup and handed it to Ron, "drink that and then be off with this."

As Ron tossed back his treatment and grimaced, Madame Pomfrey wet a cloth and handed it to Prince. "Wash your face with that – thoroughly!" She wet another and Harry accepted it. "Same for you. Mr Longbottom?"

"I'm fine, really –"

"I can see you're not, Potter. Shall I wash your face for you?"

Harry quickly pulled off his glasses and did as ordered; he wasn't five! He could wash his own face. He moved to put it down, but Pomfrey caught the cloth and his glasses and quickly ran it over them.

"Hey!"

"They may recontaminate your face. Better to wash them – there." He couldn't tell through the blur, but Pomfrey seemed to do a spell. "Much better."

Putting his glasses back on, Harry waited and watched Madam Pomfrey measure out three cups and pass them around. Neville was looking indignant as he tossed back the potion; Harry accepted it and drank it just the same. He had to choke a moment before it went down, but soon it was done and his throat felt much improved. He heard Prince thank Madam Pomfrey quietly, but by the time Harry was looking for him, he'd already moved out the door. Harry and Neville thanked her themselves and followed.

Harry watched him stalk up the hallway ahead and sneered. "Didn't even say thank you for getting him here. Git."

* * *

A/N: Hello again peoples, and here is the start of the revision of Those-Who-Lived. Several characters have been changed, and most of the text itself, too. I hope you enjoy it!  
Expect another update in roughly two weeks, and there will likely be some extended delay betwixt years. I hope you can survive, you know?

Edit: Posted a re-betaed version of this and chapter two, done by Sweetflag from Perfect Imagination.

Fire & Napalm


	2. Chapter 2

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Two:**

After that first Potions class, Harry was happy that he wouldn't have to see the Slytherins again that week. When the notice went up about flying lessons with the hated house, he nearly threw his book across the room. Neville hauled him into his seat and glared.

"Harry, what are you getting upset for? You're a natural at flying; you could get steamrollered by Malfoy and hold onto your broom, for Merlin's sake!"

"Yeah, and you'll fall off five minutes in if Malfoy so much as puffs air your way! You think I want to see you fall anymore than I want to see Malfoy's face, period?" And chances were, he'd end up near Prince and Prince would try to knock him off.

Neville cuffed the back of his head. "I'm not _that_ bad."

Harry sank into the chair and muttered, "Close."

Neville snickered and didn't argue with that.

At three-thirty, they marched outside with the rest of their year's Gryffindors to the lawn opposite the Forbidden Forest. The Slytherins were already arranged in two lines by the brooms: whether it was fate, or just luck, Harry found himself directly opposite Prince, with Neville just to his right facing Zabini. On Neville's far side, across from Hermione, was a small dark blond boy Harry thought was Theodore Nott. While he had probably seen him before, the boy was exceptionally good at disappearing at any Ministry functions they were at. Harry could sympathize: Leopold Nott, his father, frightened him and he didn't have to live with the man.

At the very least, Malfoy was on the opposite end of the line from Prince. Madam Hooch glared between the two Slytherins before starting the lesson with calling the broom to your hand. Harry didn't even have to say 'up' – he'd done it for so many years he just looked at the broom and it jumped to his hand. So did Prince's; Zabini spoke. Nott, however, didn't even get his broom to move: Hermione and he both were struggling to get it to obey. Neville leaned over and began to talk Hermione through it – he probably remembered his own father coaching him through it when he didn't even believe he had magic. Harry left him to it. Neville was better at that than he was.

Glancing back across the row, Prince caught his eye and smiled slightly. He looked almost friendly. Harry glared and the smile changed into an insufferable grin that he desperately wished he could wipe off Prince's face.

Hooch moved on, getting them to mount their brooms, placing their grip, and then she went to the end of the line and ordered them to kick off. It went smoothly... sort of. Hermione had gotten into the air fine, but she was shaking so hard she couldn't come back down and was slowly but steadily rising. Neville brought his broom back up next to her and smiled. Harry nearly swore when he leaned over to grab her broom.

"You just tip it down, see?"

She smiled weakly at him, but the broom slipped. Neville lost his grip, swung over and under his own broom. He held on with one hand for a second, and then dropped fifteen feet to the ground.

He landed with a crack and a shout of pain. Harry dropped next to him, but Madam Hooch rushed over just as quickly, looking him over.

"My ankle…" Neville whimpered. "_Gah_, my ankle."

Furious, Harry punched his shoulder. "What were you _thinking_?"

"Enough!" Madam Hooch cut off Neville's angry reply. "You will leave him be, Mr Potter." She helped Neville to his feet, bracing him so he didn't have to put any weight on his leg. "None of you are to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch!' Come on, dear."

Harry watched them go, and then turned back to Hermione who was standing at the end of the line, hands over her mouth in horror. Harry waved her over; she ran to him and buried her face in his shoulder. Awkwardly, he patted her back, but before he could say anything, Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Hah! You'd think that stupid brat would stop trying to fly after the first dozen times he fell off his broom! What kind of oaf thinks they know enough to help someone else? Served him right, falling off again!"

Harry turned, one arm around Hermione's shoulders and glared. "Just because you don't think it's worth it to be nice doesn't make you look smart mocking someone else for it! Neville's ten times the wizard you are, Malfoy! Isn't that why you'd never say that to his face?"

Malfoy's face went bright pink, and he stalked up the line, stopping several feet away when Harry brought his hand to his waist where his wand was. "Oh yeah?" Malfoy sneered. "You say you're so good. How about a duel? Tonight. The Trophy Room. Bring Neville. Let's see who wins."

Harry smiled coldly. "You won't even show up, Malfoy. Why should I even bother?" He ignored it when Hermione stepped away from him and turned to face Malfoy dead on.

"Trying to get out of it already?" The blond sneered.

"Who's the Slytherin here?"

"Potter! Malfoy! Step away from each other immediately!"

Harry stepped back quickly on hearing Professor McGonagall's voice, returning to his place in line. Malfoy also swaggered away. The Transfiguration teacher glared at them, but nobody said a word about what they'd been talking about. She remained until Madam Hooch returned to continue the class. Malfoy didn't say anything else to Harry during the class, but Prince and Hermione wouldn't stop watching him with interest.

On the way to supper, Hermione stepped up to him and demanded, "What were you thinking, accepting that? You'd better not be planning to get into trouble! He really will-"

"Set me up?" Harry stared at her. "Do you think I'm stupid? Of course he's going to. I'm not going. He probably won't even mention it."

Hermione settled onto a seat across from him and smiled. "Good."

Harry just rolled his eyes.

IIII

Harry made sure he arrived at Potions on time the next morning. Sitting with Neville across from Prince and Zabini, he wondered who would get a third partner this time around. Then again, if the arguing was any indication, Prince might just go off on his own.

"-getting lost there twice, finding a three-headed dog, and nearly getting disembowelled by Filch, aren't you the least bit concerned?" Zabini was saying. "If Quirrell hadn't been going by, you'd have seriously been in detention! With Filch! He's _terrible!"_

"I think I can take care of myself, Blaise!" Prince said. "I concede you know your way better than me, so fine. I'm sticking with you, aren't I?" He turned and double-checked something on the desk before adding, "And there is just something wrong about Quirrell showing up then, too."

"You said yourself you had a splitting headache." Zabini pointed out. "That would make anything feel wrong."

Prince shrugged, but Harry didn't hear more. Malfoy strutted in and, passing the desk Harry was at, he paused.

"You know what? You're a coward, Potter. You backed out!" He grinned. "You never showed up last night."

Harry felt a flush start, but he'd been sure Malfoy wouldn't-

"How in the world do you know that, Malfoy?" Prince cut in. "You never left the common room. Hell, you were in bed before I was – I _saw_ you go, and the door didn't open after that." He tilted his head. "What were you doing asleep at nine with no parents around anyways? You hadn't even done your homework. I was up 'til midnight working on mine."

Zabini and the two girls behind them started snickering. Several Gryffindors joined in a few moments later as Malfoy glared daggers at Prince. Harry smiled.

"See? I knew you were setting me up." Harry met Malfoy's furious stare with an easy smile. "I'm not _stupid,_ Malfoy."

Any response was cut off by Professor Snape striding in. Malfoy quickly took his seat at the front with Crabbe and Goyle, and the class started. Harry couldn't help but shoot Prince a curious look.

Why _had_ he made that comment? Was it something to do with the hat's suggestion? Did it tell _Prince_, too? Harry felt his face flush again, this time with some uncomfortable emotion he couldn't name. Baiting Malfoy like that wasn't very Gryffindor, was it? Nobody had pointed it out, but he knew: his father probably would've gone. He'd have enjoyed the adventure too. It wasn't like he didn't have a way to traverse the halls safely: without his mother's knowledge, his father had given him the invisibility cloak he'd used all his school years. Harry could have been and gone, no one the wiser.

But it wasn't being caught that had stopped him. He just hadn't cared enough to want to duel Malfoy. He'd told him he would just to shut him up: he'd never meant to keep his word. Hell, he'd managed to not even _give_ his word, and the more fool Malfoy for believing him.

That only made it worse. What kind of Gryffindor could deceive a Slytherin?

IIII

Making objects fly had been one of the first things Harry and Neville had taught themselves. What kid _wouldn't?_ It made for a boring Hallowe'en in Charms when they set out to learn it officially – but they were the only two in their class to find it boring. After two months at school, they were finding it both more and less challenging in turns. Being friends with Neville had that effect, and once he'd gotten past the first week of class, Neville had clamped onto the learning and held on tight. Harry was hard-pressed to keep up. The only student who matched him was Hermione, much to Harry – and Ron's – chagrin.

In fact, Ron had gotten the very short end of the stick this time around. He was paired with Hermione. Harry was with Seamus and had been ignoring his partner, spending most of the time making Neville laugh by levitating his feather at the front of the class. Neville had returned the favour twice already, and then stolen his hat when he wasn't looking, planting it on top of Seamus' burning feather.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_ Ron announced with much flailing about.

Hermione hissed next to him, "It's win-_gar_-dium levi-_o_-sa; make the _gar_ nice and long."

Ron turned on her, "If you're so great at this, you do it!"

Hermione fluffed up and glared at him before she turned to her own feather. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" Her feather floated easily off the desk to hover near the ceiling. Harry couldn't help but smile as Flitwick cheered.

"Oh, very well done, Miss Granger, well done! See here, class?"

The other students were generally more enthused at Hermione's success than Harry and Neville's – they were, after all, spoiled purebloods to many eyes, and there wasn't much they could say against it.

Ron, however, was sour as they left class.

"She's a nightmare!" He moaned. "Neville's bad enough, but I'm _used_ to him – you've been playing with wands since you were four, I'm sure. Her, she just shows up and spews back everything she's read, like some monster!"

Harry shrugged. "She's addicted to books. It happens often enough, you know, books are all they care about. Hey!"

Someone ran into his shoulder hard. Hermione turned and sent a poisonous glare at him before hurrying off. She had looked uncomfortably like she was crying. Harry watched her go, and someone else punched his shoulder hard. Turning again, this time he met Neville's furious eyes.

"She _heard_ you, you idiot."

He hurried off after her, sprinting to catch up. Harry stayed in place for a moment, fighting down shame. It appeared Neville had heard him, too.

"There's a good match," Ron groused. "Two bookworms."

"Ron, shut up."

Ignoring his gape, Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched the ground as he hurried to class.

They didn't see either of them all afternoon – Neville and Hermione didn't show up to their next class, and sat far away from them at lunch and their afternoon classes. Harry's hope to catch them at the feast was dashed when they weren't anywhere at the table. Harry hadn't spoken to Ron much either, feeling terrible about his best friend – his brother, really. Harry and Neville had been close since they were six years old, before that even. Coming into Neville's magic, and coming into Harry's fears had only made them closer. In light of that, the Hallowe'en decorations were a tawdry touch.

He put the annoying bats out of his mind and had barely talked himself into actually eating when Quirrel came racing into the Great Hall. Harry stared, nervous and unhappy, as the teacher came to Dumbledore's seat at the High Table and slumped across the width.

"Troll," Quirrel panted, "in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

The teacher then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

Harry sat in his seat in the midst of the uproar of the other students. He stayed in his seat, silent and furious. How _dare_ he ruin this? How dare he add this to the evening? He was tired of the goddamn mess!

He followed Percy out of the hall in a sullen gloom, and it wasn't until they were halfway to their dormitory that a horrible thought entered Harry's head. Hermione and Neville didn't know. Silently, Harry put out a hand to stop Ron as he raced the thought through his mind.

But where were they? The library? There were a lot of corners in the library. A bathroom? That's where girls went to cry, right? But Neville had followed her. Where else was private?

"Harry, what gives? We're getting left behind!"

"Hermione doesn't know about the troll. Neither does Neville."

Ron looked at him like he was crazy. "We don't even know where they are!"

"They're probably in the kitchens." Harry took off down the corridor, not caring if Ron followed.

Puffing, Ron caught up with his long legs. "But where – puff – how do you know where the kitchens are?"

Darting around a corner, Harry said, "Dad told me about them. They're downstairs... near the dungeons."

"Near the _dungeons?"_ Ron gaped. "But what about the –"

A sharp stench stopped Harry in his tracks. He skidded to a stop and slapped Ron's chest. He saw Ron's eyes bug out as he finished in a whisper, "Troll."

Harry glanced around the corner at it and bit his lip. It was looking their way. Ducking back beside Ron, he smiled weakly.

"I think the troll left the dungeons."

Ron mouthed, "You think?"

A sharp snuffling sound came their way, and Harry motioned for Ron to start moving back down the hall. They focused so hard on being quiet, they almost didn't realize it was behind them until a stronger wave of stench broke over them. Looking back, Harry suddenly had to holler, "_Protego!"_

The club shattered the shield, and literally threw him off his feet. The hard wood impacted a foot away – where he had just been standing before shielding. Ron pointed his wand and opened his mouth, terrified and silent. The troll roared, releasing its club to clutch at its face. Harry pushed his friend to keep moving, but the troll dropped its hands and seized the weapon once more. Harry tried a severing charm, the spell rebounding off its hide before Ron turned and incanted, _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The club jerked out of its hands. The troll watched it rise, confused and surprised, before Harry grabbed his shoulder. "Drop it on its head!"

Ron blinked, moved it right up the ceiling and let it go. It hit with a hollow thunk, and the troll slumped to the ground. Harry sank back against the wall and slid to the ground, breathing hard. Ron sat hard as well, staring. There was a white welt on the troll's face.

"What did you do?"

Harry blinked and looked at him. "You've never done accidental magic before?"

"That was _me_? I thought it was you; I though accidents like that were over when you entered Hogwarts!"

Harry snorted. "Not from what my mother says. I was still doing it playing with wands. Turned my godfather into a dog for three hours just this summer." Harry grinned. "Boy, was he pissed off." Ron stared at him, flabbergasted. Harry turned an innocent look at him. "He'd confiscated my books! Said I was reading way too much."

"What is it with you and books? Neville does it, Hermione does it–"

Ron made an expansive gesture and hit something soft on the upsweep. They both blinked and glanced up – way up. Harry gulped.

Snape was looming down at them, staring at Ron's hand as though he could burn it right off. Ron quickly pulled away and scooted against the wall with Harry.

"P-professor!" Ron stammered.

"What, pray tell, are you two doing away from your dorm?"

Harry struggled to his feet – his legs were shaking – and met Snape's glare with a frown of his own. "We were looking for Hermione. She ran off earlier today, upset –"

Snape looked from Ron to him and sneered. "Wasn't it your fault she was running off in the first place?"

Harry flushed, but answered, "That's why I felt I should look for her."

"Indeed." Snape's gaze bored into his before his face pinched and he looked away at the troll on the floor. "And what was this?"

"It was chasing us, sir. We fought back."

"Of course, it never would have chased you had you not been here to chase, now would it?" Ron began to stammer something, but Snape brushed it aside. "Ten points from each of you for placing yourselves in unnecessary danger. I believe you may find your _friends_ are already upstairs – as Longbottom shows far more sense than you ever have."

Harry felt lead drop into his stomach, but he elbowed Ron and moved to go past him, upstairs. He was cut off by a gasp from down the corridor – turning, he found McGonagall. Standing next to her were Neville and Hermione.

"Severus! What was going on here?"

Professor Snape looked revolted. "Just an underestimation of what I thought was an intelligent student, Minerva. I had thought Longbottom had more sense than to remain wandering about, alone."

McGonagall sent a glare at the two students at her side. "I caught them coming out of the kitchen. Said they wished to avoid the feast due to some unpleasantness…" Her glare made it clear she'd gotten that part of the story out of them as well. Harry felt a pinch and ducked his head once more. "What is going on?"

"I found Potter and Weasley had managed to incite the mountain troll. Fortunately, their stupidity is tempered by some amount of cleverness and they knocked it down after a brush with near death."

"You two –" McGonagall puffed, and then Snape surprised everyone by waving her down.

"I have taken points," he answered tiredly. "I think it best to just remove them to their common room, Minerva. I'm sure your Gryffindors need reassurance their exemplary members have managed to survive their idiocy."

Professor Snape stalked down the hall and away, a limp in his step. McGonagall bristled again.

"Just what were you two thinking that you disobeyed the order to return to your dormitories?"

Ron shuffled his feet, his face bright red. Harry pulled his eyes from Snape's retreating back and answered in a mumble, "I was trying to make sure Neville and Hermione were okay."

McGonagall seemed to deflate. "You were what, Harry?"

Cautiously he glanced up at her. "Trying to let Neville and Hermione know about the troll. I thought I knew where they were, and they wouldn't have heard… I was right; we were heading for the kitchens…"

Her pinched lips seemed to twitch. "Very well. Five points to each of you, for looking out for a friend in a time of need, including you Longbottom. Now then. You must return to Gryffindor tower – you have a feast to finish."

Falling in behind her with Neville and Hermione, Harry managed a weak smile for them both. Hermione asked, "You were worried about me?"

Harry shrugged awkwardly. Still, she smiled at him and then turned to smile at Ron as well. Turning a little pink, she kept up with Neville, with a little spring in her step.

Harry met Ron's baffled expression with a small smile of his own.

IIII

It was several days later that Ron burst in and threw himself into a chair by the fire, glowering with anger. Harry glanced up at him.

"What's up?"

"Snape," he spat. "He tried to accuse me of sneaking off to the third floor corridor when I took the wrong staircase. I hope whatever his limp is, it's really hurting him."

"Snape's limping?" Harry frowned. He'd noticed that last week, hadn't he? Why wasn't it healed?

"Yeah." Ron frowned. "What do you care?"

"It should've been healed." Harry turned back to his paper and pulled out his letter to his mother. Quickly, he added a question on the bottom.

_P.S. I saw Snape limping last week when we fought with the troll. Ron says he's still limping. What is that about? Has he told you?_

_What was he doing coming from upstairs anyways? That wasn't where the troll was. That was supposed to be in the dungeons._

"What are you writing there?"

"My mother is friends with Snape." Harry shrugged. "Not that it improves his attitude towards me anyways – he treats me like he treats my dad – but he talks with her all the time. If anyone can get answers out of him, she can."

"Your mother is friends with _Snape?"_ Ron squeaked.

"Whose mother – Oh." Neville came over and took up a seat on the floor. "Yeah, you didn't know? They've been friends for years, now. They were friends when they were at Hogwarts, but they had a tiff that didn't get resolved until after the war. They're friends again, now, though James hates every minute of it."

"How does that work?"

"Simple. She hexes them whenever they won't stop badmouthing the other and never sits them in the same room. Not after last time."

Ron's eyebrows went into his hair. "What happened?"

Neville started snickering. Harry deadpanned, "Three foot hole in the ceiling, and a burning table runner. Not counting the spells that connected."

Neville choked back another laugh and said, "I don't think anyone's figured out whose side Remus fell on in that battle."

Harry straightened and pointed his finger. "Your parents started betting!"

"Yours were fighting on two different sides!"

Hermione blinked. "What was that about?"

Harry and Neville burst into laughter again.

IIII

… _As for your question about Snape, he has indeed told me what happened and Harry, I can only ask you to not question. Severus was acting in the interests of the school and at Dumbledore's orders when he was upstairs rather than down. His injury should heal just fine in a few weeks. I'd say that nothing like that should happen again, but even if it does, this isn't anything to concern you. You have school to worry about – your teachers have it all under control._

_What kind of work are you doing now in Charms? I remember…_

Harry scowled at the letter and sat back in the armchair. Neville glanced over his shoulder.

"Lily didn't give you any solid answers, did she?"

"No. Just some vague reassurances."

Neville took it for a moment, but Harry finally said, "What is it, though?"

Neville blinked. "What is what?"

"What they're hiding?"

"What makes you think they're hiding something?"

Harry glared at him. "They have a giant, three-headed dog standing in a corridor in the middle of the school behind a sealed door. What else is it for? They have a whole forest outside to keep that dog in. It's _dangerous_ to have that in the school!"

"The teachers supposedly have it under control –"

"That's why Snape got bit, then. He _meant_ to do that."

Neville set down the letter and shrugged, turning back to his schoolwork. Harry brooded. Snape didn't put himself at risk for nothing. There was something going on that he felt he needed to interfere with.

Dumbledore's orders; Dumbledore's interference. Harry had heard that recently. "Neville, how's the look into the Gringott's break-in going?"

"Done. Nothing found," he answered, not looking up. "Nothing to be done: nobody knows who did it."

"And we now have something hiding in Hogwarts. Upon Dumbledore's orders, when Dumbledore emptied the vault in question."

Neville glanced up at him. "That's pretty hazy Harry."

"Yeah. But it's pretty suspicious, too."

Neville poked his scroll. "You're not done your Charms homework, either."

Harry made a rude gesture at Neville, but pulled the paper closer.

IIII

Next day, it was the Quidditch match. Harry felt a pinch as eleven o'clock drew near. He _hated_ watching Quidditch. He would much rather be playing it, but first years weren't even allowed their own brooms; they didn't like to put them at risk on the pitch, even though he _knew_ he had more than enough skill.

When Ron finally pulled on his arm to lead the way outside, Harry shrugged him off and smiled weakly.

"I think I'll go finish my homework with Neville. It's not going to be that exciting."

Ron made a funny face at him and let go, following Hermione out, who was also staring after them. When Ron urged her on, however, she followed, curious. Harry paused on his way back up the stairs.

Neville never went to Quidditch matches; he said they made him feel ill with nerves. Ron never made any fuss about _him._

Why'd he look like Harry had done something cruel by refusing him now?

IIII

It was two weeks later that that bomb exploded. It was, however, a different fight that set it off.

"Would you_ stop following me, already_!"

Harry halted as he came down to the entrance hall with Ron, Neville, and Hermione. Standing by the dungeon's entrance, Alan Prince had spun on his heel and lit into Blaise Zabini. The tiny boy glaring up at the black Zabini should have been funny, but something just made it look impressive to apparently everyone but Zabini himself.

"I thought you had admitted you liked my help –"

"I have more than learned the school by now, Blaise, I am _not_ an idiot. You've had your usefulness, and it's wearing very thin now. Why do you _insist_ on following me?"

"You haven't thought that you fascinate me, or that you might be a 'friend'?"

"You're one Hell of a shitty friend, Blaise. You hardly want to have any fun; you go on and on about family and propriety if I let you, and you don't get your hands dirty. You're a wimp and a whiner, and half the time, you're watching Draco Malfoy out of the corner of your eye – and don't think I don't see you grin at him! Merlin, Mary, and Morgan, you British are _crazy_!"

Zabini glanced up and across the Hall before leaning forward to say something quiet to Prince. Prince crossed his arms over his chest and rocked stubbornly back on his heels. At another word, however, he made a large show of sighing and followed him back into the hall. Harry shrugged and continued on his way now that the interesting part was over. Behind him, Neville made a soft 'huh' sound and was the first to sit down.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "It was an argument. Prince's foreign, and Zabini's being all Slytherin on him. Apparently, he wants Prince to like him, and," he laughed, "Prince obviously doesn't like _him_ for being a Slytherin. I don't think Zabini gets it, though."

"Do you _always_ know all this just from their arguments?" Ron asked. Harry looked at him; there had been a strange amount of venom in that statement.

"They're Slytherins, Ron. That's what they do. I've never heard them have a _normal_ conversation."

"It sounds like you know a lot more about them than you do anyone _else_." Ron snarled. "If you're just going to talk to _them_, maybe I should just sit somewhere else!"

Ron grabbed a napkin, heaped it with food, and stormed off. Harry watched him go, his mouth open and shocked.

"What was _that_ for?"

"I don't think Ron understands _you_, Harry," Hermione said.

"He's been touchy all week." Neville wouldn't look at him. "I think you scare him, too."

"Why? _How_?"

"He's never had to compete with you at school before." Neville stared at his plate and played with his fork. "When he came over, you hauled him straight outside every single time, and that's what Ron's good at. You left the books alone until you were just with me. Ron can't ignore it at school, now, and all he sees is you keeping up with me while he's left behind. I don't think he likes having to work with you at something he's not good at."

"But I don't care if Ron can keep up like that! Ron's just my friend. I _need_ someone I can race around a tree who won't knock himself out on the damn thing."

Neville shrugged again, smiling wryly. "Ron doesn't see that."

Harry got up and jogged out of the hall, looking around and wondering where Ron could be. Outside? In the dormitory? He didn't know. He couldn't predict Ron like he could Neville. He tried outside, jogging around the grounds, but something stopped him and made him glance out. A small wooden hut sat on the edge of the forest, a great pumpkin patch growing beside it. Harry presumed it was the groundskeeper, Hagrid's place. He'd never met him, but his parents had known him, at least: always hauling them out of the forest.

On impulse, Harry jogged up and knocked on his door. Great booming barks echoed out, and then a rumbling voice growled, "'Old yer horses, I'm comin'. Just sit there, there's a good lad."

The door was hauled open. Inside, Harry immediately noted Ron's shock of red hair before the largest man Harry had ever seen blocked his view. He held the collar of a great boarhound like the beast weighed nothing, and compared to Hagrid it was true.

"What 'ave we 'ere? James Potter's boy, if I know that face." Hagrid grinned behind his shaggy beard, his black eyes twinkling. "Ye lookin' for Mr Weasley, now?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "May I come in?"

"Sure, sure! C'mon in."

Harry slipped inside and took a seat at the large table he had. Ron wouldn't look at him. He made a bit of small talk as it came to him, but it wasn't long before he paused and looked at Ron.

"Ron… What gives?"

"What gives?" Ron asked dully. "I don't see why you bother being my friend."

"Maybe because nobody else I know can keep up with me on a broom but my little sister?" Harry raised his eyebrow. Ron looked at him incredulously. "C'mon! It was two years ago that Neville managed to knock himself out on his own tree in his yard. Couldn't make the damn turn and knocked himself clean off his broom. Broke his arm. You didn't even come close to that branch, while I had to dodge!" Harry smiled, remembering. "You're as good at flying as your brother Charlie."

Ron mumbled, "I'm not as good as you."

"And Neville and Hermione have beaten me in every test we've had so far." Harry pointed out. "So what? I'd rather be out riding a broom than sitting doing schoolwork with them. We're just stuck with the schoolwork now."

"You didn't want to come to the Quidditch match with me," Ron pointed out.

"Ron, I hate _watching_ Quidditch. I just want to be on a damn broom, and if I have to sit and put up with that for hours, it'll drive me crazy! I nearly throttled the Seeker last time I watched someone play."

Ron gave a small smile. "What made you so smart?"

"My mum." Harry answered. "She drilled it into my head."

"Lily would do tha'," Hagrid agreed, coming over with the tea he'd busied himself making while they talked. "Drink up, then. Always good, tha'." Ron turned pink, but Hagrid only nodded. "Ye feel better for talkin' abou' it? It's never good to be fightin' wi' yer friends."

"Ron?" Harry asked softly.

Ron took another drink and smiled weakly at Harry. "I suppose."

Harry grinned. "I need somebody to haul me out of the library if I start going crazy."

That brought a grin. "I can do that."

IIII

It was only a few short weeks later that the school woke up covered in snow. Hagrid hauled in several, very tall Christmas trees to decorate the Great Hall with, and everyone was excited about the holidays – even Neville who hadn't been so keen upon seeing his younger brother Connor anytime soon earlier in the year. Harry was excited and anxious, but he pushed the anxiety aside. It wasn't like it was a long visit, and he really wanted to see his mother again.

He was even looking forward to seeing his infuriating little sister, Nanna.

It wasn't until he was getting off the train at Platform 9 ¾ that he started to worry what their reactions to his antics so far would be. Lily would be the only one to know how he'd behaved in Potions class to incite Prince's little stunt, but everyone would know about the troll…

Five minutes after arrival, he remembered who he was worrying about here.

Sirius was accompanying his mother to the station today, and once Harry was off the train, he was scooped up into the air by Sirius and spun around.

"Harry! How smashing to see you! You are an exemplary son to your dear father already! Defeating a troll; you rotten little boy!" Sirius set him down and shook his finger sternly. The grin on his face, however, took any possible scold away. "Where on earth did you get that idea?"

"Neville's fault." Harry pointed innocently his direction.

Sirius wasn't fooled in the least.

IIII

"A troll, a fully grown, twelve-foot-tall mountain troll, and you just-… knocked it out?" James asked.

"Ron helped," Harry answered between mouthfuls. "Really, he did. He was the one who did the knocking out and who distracted it."

"We're going to have to invite the Weasleys over again." His father nodded smartly. "I must hear this from Ron himself."

Harry tried to imagine Ron's reaction and smiled into his dinner.

"However, I am concerned about one thing." James gave him another amused but stern look. "I have heard nothing of you looking up secret passageways."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Dad! I have actual schoolwork to do!"

James and Sirius both groaned simultaneously. Remus gave them an impatient look and then said,

"Well then, you should be working harder at getting it done so you have the time. You haven't even met Moaning Myrtle yet! "

"Or just not doing it at all!" Sirius pointed out. "You're doing fine in class; your homework doesn't have to be perfect!"

"His homework does so!" Lily argued. "Harry, don't listen to these overgrown _children_." She glared at them. "Good school habits will be very helpful to you, more so than _secret passages_. And you are not going to encourage him! For goodness sake, Myrtle stays in the _girl's bathroom_!"

"It's alright, I'll get both done." Harry shrugged. "It shouldn't hurt."

Remus and Lily met each other's eyes with exasperated looks. James and Sirius grinned, and Nanna piped up, "So how long are you back for?"

Harry looked around the table and smiled crookedly. "Long enough. I'll be wishing I were back at Hogwarts pretty soon."

Nanna nodded smartly. "Yeah, I'd say that sounds right."

Harry reached over and ruffled her hair. "So, do you have all your presents yet?"

"Yours isn't under the tree, Harry!" She frowned. "Where is it?"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't gone shopping; how would he? He was never near any shops. Lily, however, was taking him tomorrow, probably with Neville and Alice. It would be nice. Talk had turned to when to invite over the Weasleys and Harry just settled down to eating, trying to relax while he was at home.

It just didn't feel right.

IIII

He had a good haul: candy, clothes, pranks, and a knitted sweater from Mrs Weasley, which came as quite the surprise. Either way, it was a fun holiday and he got to enjoy New Years with Neville darting around the manor, trying to avoid their little siblings and having varying degrees of success.

Going back to Hogwarts was almost hard, but it wasn't long before he was glad of it. Dealing with his father tired him for some reason he couldn't fathom. The only thing that had stuck with him had been that he needed to find something to explore in the castle – but what?

It was in the first few days after returning that he went out, invisible, and tried to find something exciting. He wandered up first, checking the higher, deserted floors and old classrooms stuffed with dusty desks and tables. He passed tapestries and vases and armour he'd never seen, with everything from what looked like King Arthur to trolls dancing ballet.

He went downstairs, passing the kitchens and the entrance to Hufflepuff, which opened to release two Prefects whom he barely sidestepped. Further still came the dungeons, where he did not linger, and by then, he was too tired to go further, slipping back to the dorm and going to bed.

Two other adventures yielded little else, and Harry slept fitfully and unhappy. Nothing he did seemed to be right.

IIII

Time passed. There were other Quidditch matches; Harry attended them with Ron, trying to smile when all he wanted to do was grab a broom and snatch the Snitch out from under the Gryffindor Seeker's nose – he was a fourth year, slim with beady eyes and he'd missed it twice when Harry had spotted it flying by. He finally covered his eyes when the players found it and raced downwards – the roar from the stand nearby and Ron's angry shout told him all he needed to know. He'd expected the Hufflepuff Seeker to get it first; he'd been flying far faster. He'd been right.

After that, Harry spent as much time as he could with Ron, trying not to think. He invited him out to explore the school under the invisibility cloak, and had three near-misses with Filch. Nothing Hermione said deterred him; Neville didn't even bother. Ron thought it was grand fun.

His opinion cemented when, later that month, Hermione started coming down on them hard to study and revise. Harry and Neville both rolled their eyes in sync and pretended to buckle down. Neville sat, a book propped up in his lap, and Harry pulled Ron's attention quietly to the paper he was taking notes on. Ron was quickly engrossed.

Hermione was pleased for about ten minutes until she tried to get their attention. Neville didn't so much as flinch, his eyes glued to his book; Harry was trying not to laugh. Ron didn't have so much skill: he burst into snickers, and Hermione pulled the paper over.

"Harry! Ron! That's not studying!"

"It's a memory tool!"

"Yeah." She pointed to the word underneath the little hangman, "For _Quidditch_. I doubt the Holyhead Harpies are going to come up on our History exam!"

Harry shrugged at Ron, smiling slightly. Hermione turned to Neville.

"And what are _you_ doing? Skiving off as well? Give me that." She grabbed at his book. Neville slammed it shut quickly, his face pink as he answered curtly, "Yes?"

Hermione was glaring at the book, which had a gap in the pages. "I thought you knew how important studying was." She looked close to tears.

Neville slid the smaller book out from within the textbook and didn't look at her, his face darkening. Harry raised his hand shortly. "Hermione, he does like the work, really. Neville's just a pisshead who doesn't study." Harry ducked the swipe. "But really, he'll love to go over the tests with you later."

"Do _you_ think studying is a waste of time?"

Harry grinned. "I know it isn't. I just don't think it's fun either. Here, gimme back the paper. What was the committee meeting you wanted us to remember? I'll try and make a game of that."

Hermione allowed herself to be placated by that, but Ron wasn't pleased. He looked around and suddenly beamed. "Hagrid! What are you doing here?"

Hagrid spun in place, his hands going quickly behind his back. "Oh, hullo. I was just, er, looking up something fer me garden. Looking it up for me garden. How are you all doing?"

Ron sighed. "Revising."

"Ah. Tests." Hagrid nodded sagely, and then glanced back down at his hands. "Well, I got ter go. Good luck?"

Ron waved him off and smiled, but Neville was staring at the aisle suspiciously. "That isn't the Herbology aisle."

Swinging his feet apart, Neville bounced up and strode into the books there as Hermione sighed impatiently. Harry was making a list of what they needed to memorize, keeping one eye on Neville's return, which didn't take long. He brought with him three books, setting them on the table. Harry paused in his writing.

Neville met his eyes, frowning. "Dragons."

"What's he looking up dragons for?" Harry asked softly.

"Dunno." There was a small glimmer in his eye. Harry stared at him and shook his head.

"Neville, no. That's impossible."

"Harry, we're in a castle in the middle of nowhere, in Scotland, with a changing floorplan, a population of ghosts, and a bunch of kids with sparking wooden sticks. What says we can't have a dragon?"

"The fact that dragon breeding is illegal?"

"Since when has that ever stopped a wizard or a witch?"

Harry couldn't argue with that one. "So, what do you want to do about it? Report him?"

"No…" Neville grinned. "I want to see if I'm right."

Harry blinked.

* * *

A/N: Ugh, here's what I get for restarting this after so long. Missed by a day. Oh well. I hope you enjoy it.

Fire & Napalm


	3. Chapter 3

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Three:**

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Neville, beside him under the cloak, shushed him as they moved carefully across the lawn. Ron had been left behind, arguably because it would have just been barmy to risk three of them out after dark. Harry didn't know why he'd agreed to do this with Neville, but it was done now.

They moved easily across the grass and came up to Hagrid's windows. The curtains were pulled tightly shut. They checked them all: none of them were open. Finally, returning to the first, Neville tapped the window with his wand and twitched the curtain aside. It moved only a small portion, enough to see Hagrid's large back bent over the hearth, before it fell back again.

The second time Neville tried, it set Hagrid's dog off. Shocked, Neville tripped and fell hard, and Hagrid came nervously to his door. Flinging it open, he shouted, "Who's there?"

Neville was cursing under his breath, and Harry was hauling him to his feet. It lasted about five more seconds before Fang, the large boarhound, came over to snuffle around their feet. Harry groused, "Go away, Fang."

The dog didn't listen, but it did recognize his voice. Whuffling softly at where they were, Fang gave a quick play-bow. Hagrid noticed and moved quickly closer. Afraid they were going to be stepped on, Harry dropped the hood and gave Hagrid a hesitant smile.

"Hullo, Hagrid."

Hagrid stopped dead. His eyes narrowed. "'Arry?" When he got a nod he glanced down and quickly asked, "Where's the rest of ye?"

"Invisibility cloak," Harry announced casually, still trying to get Neville up. "Can we come in?"

Hagrid furrowed his brow. "We?"

"Me 'n' Neville." Harry frowned and dropped Neville on his bum again before stroking off the cloak. "We came out for a midnight walk, you know, but could do with some tea."

Neville was still seated unhappily on the ground, glaring up at Harry who only gave him an innocent look. Hagrid suddenly burst into delighted laughter.

"C'mon in, c'mon in. Blimey, the two o' ye! Yer as bad as the Weasley twins!"

Neville grinned and scrambled to his feet, beating Harry inside the cabin. He paused upon the threshold to cough. Coming up behind him, Harry could appreciate why. It was stifling hot inside. Harry wasn't surprised when Neville's gaze went immediately to the fireplace: he'd flipped through the dragon books he'd brought out, and he probably picked up something. Hagrid immediately noticed where he was looking and went pale.

"Now, dunna say owt –"

"That's a _dragon's egg_," Neville whispered reverently and went to crouch by the fire. Hagrid's face went a little pink and pleased. "Where did you _get_ it?"

"Won it." Hagrid beamed. "Off a man in the pub down in Hogsmeade."

Harry had to wonder what the man had been doing with a dragon's egg in the first place, but he wasn't going to interrupt them.

"What did he give you the egg for?" Neville wondered. "You could sell these for money."

"'E appreciated the beauties." Hagrid sniffed. "I think he were glad ter be rid o' it, ter tell ye the truth."

"_Really_..." Neville raised a hand and put it back down, and wisely so, Harry thought. If he was going to put his hand in a fire, it wasn't going to be Harry explaining how he got burnt. "How do you care for one, though?"

"I've been doin' some readin'," Hagrid announced proudly. "Got this outta the library – _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit. _It's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in 'ere. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket of brandy mixed wi' chicken blood every half hour. An' see here, how ter recognize diff'rent eggs; what I got 'ere is a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

Neville's face went a little strained, but he turned and smiled. "You must be great with animals."

Hagrid blushed again. "I just know how ter work with 'em. Most of the time, summat nice an' peaceful – like music – can put 'em in a right good mood; half the time, they go right off ter sleep. They're all just soft things, really."

Neville's face was pricelessly disturbed again; at this point, Harry was getting interested – something a good bit smaller than a dragon certainly interested _him –_ but it was late.

"Hagrid, how about we come down later on to talk some more? It's really late – you know we're not supposed to be out here – so we need to get back before we're missed."

"O'course, course." He nodded and grinned. "You can come talk a bit later, eh? I'm down here when me duties are done, so I dunna mind visitors at all. Ye head on back, now afore they miss ye."

They put on the cloak and moved swiftly through the halls, heading upstairs at an easy pace. They didn't speak until they were in the common room, the cloak off and moving towards the staircase.

"A real live dragon!" Neville beamed.

"Neville," Harry said, irate, "Hagrid lives in a _wooden house_."

His face fell quickly. "Yeah. And it's illegal…" A twisted grin made him look a bit crazy. "And you know dragons? They grow _really fast_. A Norwegian Ridgeback might be bigger than his house in… oh, about a month or so after hatching."

Harry shook his head and pushed past him.

Bloody Hell! He almost hoped the egg wouldn't hatch.

IIII

A couple of weeks later, however, Hedwig came over to Harry on Thursday. Normally, he only got letters on Saturday, Sunday, or Monday from his mother. Opening the small note, Harry slapped his forehead. At his friend's curious looks, Harry handed Neville the note.

In an untidy scrawl, it read: '_It's hatching_'.

Harry wanted to smack the excited look off Neville's face. Hermione immediately cuffed Neville on the ear.

"You are not skipping a class!"

Ron added his view. "Hermione, how often are we going to see a dragon hatch?"

"Do you want to get him in trouble?" Harry pointed out. "If we're missing from class, someone will wonder. If they see us going to his house, they'll look there."

Neville and Ron shut up instantly. Beyond them, Harry watched suspiciously as Malfoy slowed on his way by and then sped up again. He put it out of his mind as they went to Herbology and waited impatiently for morning break: he wouldn't deny that he, too, wished to see the dragon hatch.

IIII

Back in the dormitory that evening, Harry sat down hard in a stuffed armchair, thinking. Neville, Ron, and Hermione settled nervously around him.

"Malfoy saw it," Neville pointed out quietly once more.

"I know." Harry bit his lip, trying to think. "But they might not believe him."

"They might," Neville allowed, his doubt plain.

"We have to do something about that dragon." Harry turned to Ron. "Charlie works with dragons, doesn't he? Couldn't he take it?"

"I dunno." Ron blinked. "Maybe."

"We should write him, get it set up –"

"Harry, it's Hagrid's pet!" Hermione whispered hotly. "We can't just take away his pet without even _talking_ to him!"

"It's going to get him fired, if not _arrested_, Hermione!"

"It's still his pet!" Hermione set her jaw. Harry looked to Neville and found him agreeing with Hermione.

"Fine," Harry growled. "You deal with it, then."

He stalked up to his room, furious both with himself and with the others. They just didn't see it! That dragon was an accident waiting to happen; it was a huge risk, and they wanted to wait just so Hagrid could get himself in even more trouble? Where was the sense in that?

"Harry?"

He turned and frowned at Neville. "What?"

Neville gave him a small, cautious smile as he looked him over. "It'll be okay, Harry."

"What will?"

"The dragon. Hagrid."

Harry laughed incredulously. "You're impossible, Neville, you know that?" Neville just shrugged, watching him still. Harry shifted awkwardly. Neville had always done that, just stared at him for a long time – usually after an outburst. He felt like his friend was trying to figure something out about him, but he couldn't imagine what.

"Harry…"

"What?"

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, coming up their way. Neville shook his head and moved to his trunk. As Ron came in, Harry also moved to go through the things in his trunk, trying to avoid the confusion going through his head.

If Neville would stop watching him like he wanted to dissect him, it'd be a lot easier.

IIII

Harry sent the letter without asking the others. He was confident Hagrid would see he needed to give the dragon up, and he wanted this arranged as soon as possible. By the time the answer arrived, they'd talked Hagrid into asking Charlie about it.

When Neville found out Harry had sent the letter anyway, he stopped Hermione from hexing him, but stared at him long and hard with narrowed eyes.

Harry would've preferred Hermione to hex him than get that kind of look. He handed them Charlie's answer and left without speaking, wandering downstairs and through the halls, trying to shake off the bad feeling he'd been left with.

On his way back up, Harry passed Prince also walking the halls. Pausing, their eyes met for a moment, and Harry felt a thrill of unease before he walked on. Stopping and staring after him, Harry frowned. Prince had been sitting a lot closer to Malfoy this last week, and often, he would be speaking with hardly any motion as he did so. Malfoy looked terrified of him; Zabini looked impressed.

As he started to walk again, he began to think. More often than not, Harry saw Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis with Prince and Zabini now – two girls he knew from the ministry. Daphne was Blaise's cousin. Tracey was a half-blood: her father worked in law and her mother was a muggle, which was unheard of, considering how dark her father was.

Greengrass and Zabini, however, were both dark families. Desdemona Zabini was now on her seventh husband. All of her previous husbands had died suddenly and suspiciously, leaving her all of their money. She was a very rich woman because of them, and an Auror's nightmare. Greengrass was just from the typical, dark family cut from the same cloth as the Blacks.

The only reason Sirius had inherited the family home was because he was the last living direct descendent. The only thing his mother had liked less than him was the thought of their legacy dying out. It was on her deathbed that she stopped calling for her second son and left everything to her eldest.

Finally, Harry found himself at the portrait hole and he slowed. He didn't want to face them, but his invisibility cloak was inside. Grimacing, he spoke the password and crawled in. He'd done what he'd thought was right. That's all there was to it.

Wasn't that what Gryffindors did?

IIII

Because Ron got bitten a few days before the rendezvous, their plans changed slightly – Harry was dragged from his homework to help Neville cart the dragon up the Astronomy tower while Hermione waited nervously in the common room.

At the top of the tower, Harry put down the crate and groaned. He was dog-tired – _never_ did he want to carry something like that up that many stairs again. Neville was laughing softly at him, rubbing his own back. They both watched the skies until Charlie's cheerful friends showed up and rigged the crate beneath their brooms. They waved them off and grabbed the cloak to hurry back to Gryffindor tower.

Coming out of the door at the bottom, they started briskly up the hall. Another small body crashed into their backs; they had heard nothing. Swearing, Harry hauled the cloak off his head and came face to face with Alan Prince. The Slytherin was breathing hard, sweat beading on his face. He brought his wand up; Harry twitched away, but Prince pointed it at himself. Suddenly, he could hear him panting for breath before he whispered,

"What are you doing, Filch is –!"

"Right here, you little runt!" the man snarled.

Prince spun and swore fervently; Neville echoed him. Harry was speechless with horror. Scrambling to their feet, Harry tried to ball up the cloak behind himself, but Filch staggered up and snatched it out of his hands.

"I'll have this! Device of mischief it is, and nothing for students to be carting around!"

"You can't take that! That's my father's!"

Filch snarled. "You think I've never taken things from him before? You'll not see this again, boy! You should worry more about what's to happen to you, out and about at all hours! Come with me!"

Harry mutinously growled, "That's a Potter _heirloom_."

"Then you should be a bit more careful what you do with it, Potter!"

Neville elbowed him, but Harry didn't respond. He _could not_ lose that. His father's cloak was the most important thing he owned, and Filch wouldn't get away with taking it from him.

The thought, and plans to get it back, lasted until they were brought into McGonagall's office. They weren't the only students there. Harry felt a little lift in his spirits.

"_Prince_!" Malfoy snarled. He toppled over on hexed legs and fell flat on the floor. Alan Prince didn't so much as twitch; he was looking extremely cool and dignified now that he'd gotten his breath back.

McGonagall glared between them all. Her lips were pressed tightly together.

"I have never in all my years caught so many students out of bed in one night."

Harry mutinously emphasized the 'caught' part of the phrase; if she'd known what his father got up to…

"It is a disgrace! All of you! _Nothing_ can excuse your behaviour. You, Malfoy, and Prince will report to your Head of House in the morning. I am deducting fifty points from each one of you – yes, you and Longbottom too, Potter. Fifty points _each_ – and you will _all_ have a detention. I have never been more ashamed, especially of _my own students_."

Malfoy snickered. Prince spoke up. "Stop laughing, _Malfoy_. I'd like to see what Snape has to say about you _stalking me_."

Buffing his nails, Malfoy sneered. "Like he'd uphold some Gryffindor's ruling."

Before McGonagall could explode, before Harry could say one word, Prince turned and punched Malfoy, sending him staggering back, his hand to his cheek. He settled back on his heels as though he hadn't just punched someone, and McGonagall was breathless with outrage.

"The both of you! Enough! I am reporting your behaviour to Professor Snape, and you had better hope he likes you as much as you seem to think, Malfoy, or it will be much the worse for you! Now all of you, back to bed at once. I will have Filch escort you downstairs, Prince, Malfoy."

She didn't even look at Harry and Neville as they contritely followed her upstairs. When she left them inside the portrait hole, Neville gave Harry a small nudge.

Harry stalked to their dorm without answering, his mind buzzing with ideas.

IIII

The Gryffindors were horrified; so, too, were the Slytherins as they came up and looked at the hourglasses of points in the Great Hall. Harry and Neville saw for themselves how Snape had reacted to Malfoy and Prince fighting: Slytherin had lost twenty more points than them, putting them below Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw was currently in the lead.

That they were in the same pickle as Slytherin didn't make many Gryffindors much happier to have lost the lead. At the very least, it made Harry and Neville less than pariahs and more than just nonentities.

It suited Harry to be ignored. He was busy.

"Harry…" Neville whined. They were working on schoolwork in the common room, or they were supposed to be. Hermione was watching him warily, as was Ron; only Neville dared speak to him when he was working that hard. "Harry, you're going to lose even more points if you're caught."

Harry glanced up at Neville and raised an eyebrow for a second before reading over the paper again and then crumpling it and throwing it into the fire with a smile. Ignoring Neville, he turned to Hermione. "Who was it that Binns wanted a report on again? Was it Thrasher the Nob-head, or Theodoric the Accident?"

At the end of that week, Harry left the common room near curfew, a folded piece of parchment in hand. He went upstairs, looking for someone in particular. He smiled and walked casually until he heard a racket in a classroom. Harry paused and whistled sharply. The door banged open, and Peeves shot out, flipping over upside-down.

"It's a wee little firstie!" Peeves sang. "The wee little firstie is out near curfew, what a bad, bad boy."

"I have a plan, Peeves, to tweak Filch's nose." Harry smiled. "But it's one that'll be much better with the help of Peeves."

Peeves flipped upright again and smiled. "Oh?"

"What would you say to a little mayhem? If you get Filch out of his office, I can get something out of his office for you."

Peeves looked away, watching him from the corner of his eye. Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, of course you wouldn't dare risk him getting angry again. Perhaps the Bloody Baron might be more help…"

Peeves raced by, knocking him over and screaming for Filch to come quickly. Harry brushed the sweat off his brow and began to jog lightly downstairs. Now he had to get to Filch's office before Peeves grew bored – and hope he wasn't going to tell Filch he was plotting against him.

He slowed his jog on the first floor and smiled weakly as a Hufflepuff Prefect went by. The Prefect looked down the hall – they were near Filch's office – and gave him a supportive smile. Harry continued on and then ducked inside, shutting the door behind him.

Looking around, Harry wondered why Filch even put up with this office. It was small and dingy, with a low ceiling lit only by a single oil lamp hanging in the middle. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls, labelled by names – presumably detention records. Harry saw that Fred and George had an entire drawer to themselves. Behind Filch's desk was a highly polished set of chains and manacles.

Not wasting any time, Harry pulled over his chair and hauled the chains down, setting them by the door as quietly as possible. Then, he looked over the filing cabinets. On the far side, a drawer was labelled _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_.Harry immediately hauled it open.

His cloak was folded neatly on top. Harry took it out and set it on his desk and then, he paused. Underneath it was a shiny black item that looked metal or plastic – he wasn't sure which. He eyed it carefully; it bent at a ninety-degree angle, looking similar to a boomerang, but it couldn't be – it was too thick, the turn too sharp. One end had a round hole; the other, a label: _Property of Alan Prince_.

What the Hell was it? Harry was sure it looked vaguely familiar. On impulse, Harry pocketed it. He would find a way to pin Prince and ask him what it was about before he gave it back.

Harry turned his attention back to the drawer and finally hauled it out of the cabinet, putting it next to the manacles by the door. He pulled out the drawer on Fred and George, too, and added it before he looked around. The drawer just below _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_ looked to be filled with similar items, so he pulled it out too.

With that done, Harry drew his cloak around himself and slipped to the door, inching it open. Curfew was gone, and the hall was deserted. Harry slipped out and then silenced and levitated the items out into the hall as well: the stack of drawers and the well-polished chains. Pushing the door shut thereafter, Harry whistled sharply again and then took off running upstairs. Now, he needed to get back to the dorm with no one the wiser, and then he'd be out of trouble.

He made a mental note to hide his cloak. He had a false bottom in his trunk he could use. If he didn't have it back, after all, how did he get away with raiding Filch's office? Harry couldn't stop grinning.

IIII

It was Sunday the next day, and Harry gladly slept in. As he was one of the last to wake, Neville was already back in the Common room, gleefully telling everyone of the excitement at breakfast. Harry stopped at the foot of the stairs as Neville started again.

"Papers everywhere, burning, all over the Entrance Hall! He was just throwing them down from the ceiling, raising holy Hell with some weird noise-making contraption! Nobody knows how he got all of it, but it looks like he got into Filch's office and stole a bunch of stuff and drawers! He's all draped in chains and manacles, keeps pretending like he's one of those ghosts that clatters and clanks all over!"

So, Peeves had gotten a hold of the drawers and chains. Harry wasn't sure if he should feel better or not. His father would probably write and ask if he had his cloak back, and then he'd have to tell him. James and Sirius would probably laugh their heads off, but his mother wasn't going to be happy one bit.

But he had to face the music some time. After all, nobody knew he did it. He stepped into the common room.

"Harry! C'mere!" Neville waved him over, grinning like a loon. "Did you hear? Peeves got into Filch's office and –"

"I heard you. I swear, you practically woke me up."

He got a raised eyebrow for it, and Harry shrugged, fishing through his bag for his homework. Neville kicked him lightly and raised one eyebrow again. Harry hadn't learned how to do that yet, and it made him snappish to see Neville showing it off.

"What?"

Neville mouthed, _You?_

Grumpily, Harry nodded.

Neville grinned, ecstatic, but his eyes were a touch worried. "Everyone blames Fred and George, you know. They're furious because they didn't do it, but nobody believes them."

Ron grumbled, "You'd think they'd be happy to catch the credit, but they're fussy about that. They're trying to think of ways to bribe Peeves into telling them if he knows."

Harry winced minutely and shrugged. "Good luck with that. I need to go get some breakfast." And find the twins to apologize. He didn't want them asking Peeves for proof. What if someone overheard?

He needed to figure out what to do with Prince's toy; although, he wasn't sure if that was the word for it. Something made him think it was dangerous, but he couldn't remember how it worked, and he wasn't willing to try pulling the little lever when he didn't know what it was. For all he knew, it could explode!

Harry caught the twins at breakfast and asked to speak with them in one of the nooks in the Entrance Hall. They obliged him, but took the outside position. Harry smiled weakly and offered, "What would you say if I said I never meant to frame you for it?"

The two pranksters blinked. "You did that?"

"Yeah. I wanted my invisibility cloak back. I had to do something, and this way if it's missing, nobody immediately looks my way."

They whistled, impressed. "Very well done. Very well done. But if you never meant to frame us, why choose the drawer of our records?"

"We're going to lose our prestige."

"C'mon," Harry wheedled. "A drawer of scattered punishments, some charred? Everyone will think you mocked the caretaker mercilessly! And besides," Harry shrugged innocently, "it was the biggest file next to the Marauders. Couldn't risk you overshadowing _them_."

That was his trump card. Fred and George grinned and patted him on the shoulder before leaving amiably. Ever since they'd stolen a dirty piece of parchment out of Filch's office themselves, they'd admired the Marauders. When Molly had started complaining about them getting into ridiculous amounts of trouble, Sirius had become suspicious and finally approached them about it, telling them he had been a member of a grand group of pranksters: the Marauders.

Harry still remembered the twins suddenly bowing at Sirius' feet. It was still one of the funniest things he'd ever seen.

With that taken care of and breakfast eaten, Harry aimlessly made his way to the library, half-thinking he'd try and look up what Prince's toy was. He was just outside the doors when Prince came out and strode by. Harry shot out his hand and stopped him.

Prince pulled free and spun to face him. "What do you want?"

"There's no need to be rude," Harry grumbled, fumbling with his pockets. He held it out and then nearly panicked as voices came out of the library doors. Seeing Prince's eyes widen, Harry shoved it at him and took off through the doors, nearly running into Percy. The Prefect glared down his nose at him before the Ravenclaw Prefect on his arm shook her head and drew him forward.

When Harry looked for Prince, the boy was gone.

Harry was left to hide from his panic alone.

IIII

Of all the strange things to happen that year, the one that alarmed him the most happened one week before exams were due to start. As Harry was coming back from the library one afternoon, he passed a spare classroom and overheard something.

"No – No – Not again, please –"

It was Quirrell. Harry flattened himself against the wall next to the door, thinking.

"All right – all right." Quirrell sobbed.

The Defence teacher then strode out of the classroom, straightening his turban. His eyes focused straight ahead. Harry didn't think he had seen him, but he looked alarmingly pale; he was sweating. Harry waited until his footsteps had faded away before he peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the very end.

What had happened?

Harry mused as he wandered back to the library, turning possibilities over in his head. He sat back down with his friends, where Hermione was glaring at Neville to stop him answering the questions as she grilled Ron on Astronomy. He immediately got their attention. After a moment, Neville snapped his fingers in front of his face, and Harry came around and answered the unspoken question.

"I just heard something very interesting. It looks like someone is trying to get at the teachers."

"Get at the teachers?" Neville asked. "What for?"

Harry shrugged, but frowned around the library. Seeing nobody, he continued, "Well, nothing says that whatever was hidden here has been moved. Maybe somebody was biding their time to try and get in? All the teachers are really busy with revision and planning the exams. And Quirrell's been dotty ever since he came back this year, stuttering and looking terrified. Maybe they think he's an easy target."

"They're probably right," Neville muttered. Harry grinned; they both hated Quirrell's class. It was far too easy for them.

"But what good is he?" Hermione had to ask. "What do they want Quirrell for?"

Harry could only shrug.

Neville glanced up with a frown. "I'm more wondering why it's happening 'again'."

Hermione chewed her lip. "Shouldn't we tell somebody?"

Harry waved a hand negligently. "Who are they gonna believe? Go ahead, talk to McGonagall or Dumbledore next chance you get, but somehow I doubt it will do much. How could Dumbledore not know what was going on?"

"He's only human," Neville pointed out.

Harry snorted. "You really sure of that?"

Neville and Ron both snickered as well. Hermione took a moment to join in, but join in she did. It was a funny thought.

IIII

The next evening, Harry and Neville received notes telling them to show up for their detention at eleven that night. They exchanged looks, and Harry felt a little sick. He did _not_ want a detention with Filch. The man was still half-crazy with anger – although he'd gotten back his chains, a little worse for wear.

They met up with Prince and Malfoy, who both were also refusing to talk to their Gryffindor companions – and most certainly not to each other – and were taken out into the grounds by a muttering, furious Filch. Since nothing was actually about their present detention, Harry tuned him out to wonder where they were going. What was to be done outside at nearly midnight, anyways?

The bright moon threw shadows of clouds over Hagrid's cabin as they came near, and a great shout came out at them from the darkness,

"Is that you, Filch? I want ter get started."

Harry felt a burst of relief. If it was Hagrid they were going with... well, he didn't doubt it would be dangerous, but at least he wouldn't be doing it maliciously.

Filch stared back at his face and growled, "If you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf, think again, boy – it's into the forest you're going, and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

Malfoy stopped dead. "The forest?" He didn't sound in the least composed. "We can't go in there at night. There's all sorts of things in there! Werewolves, I heard."

"For crying out loud," Harry moaned, "It's not even a full moon, Malfoy!"

Filch sniffed at Harry and grinned gleefully at Malfoy. "You should've thought of them werewolves before you got into trouble."

Hagrid came striding towards them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder. "Where have ye bin? I've been waiting half an hour already. Alright there, Harry, Neville?"

"Shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid." Filch sneered. "They're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late is it? Bin threatening them?" Hagrid glowered. "It's not yer place, Filch. S'not yer place to do that. You done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back by dawn," Filch sneered. "For what's left of them."

Harry and Neville rolled their eyes at each other. Malfoy stared down Hagrid.

"I'm not going in there!" he announced. Quickly, he scooted several steps away from Prince, who had turned to him when he spoke.

"Yeh are if yeh want to stay at Hogwarts. You've done wrong and now yeh've got ter pay for it."

"But this is servant stuff; it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something. If my father knew I was doing this, he'd –"

"Tell ye that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful, or yeh'll leave. If yeh think your father would rather you be expelled, then get off ter the castle and pack."

Prince elbowed Malfoy, and the snotty brat shut up.

"Right then, what we're gonna do is dangerous, so listen up. I don't want anyone doing nothing foolish. Look there." Hagrid led them towards the forest and pointed down a narrow trail. There was something silvery glinting on the ground in spatters and splashes.

"That can't be… Unicorn blood?" Prince whispered, sounding disgusted. Hagrid nodded sadly.

"Aye. It's been hurt badly by sommat. It's the second time in two weeks. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're going to look for it, and we may have to put it out of its misery."

"What if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" Malfoy whimpered, plainly frightened half to death. With unicorn blood on the ground, Harry couldn't blame him.

"Nothing in the forest will hurt you if yer wit' me or fang."

Harry's eyes widened. That wasn't the most comforting thing Hagrid had ever said.

"Keep ter the path. We're gonna split into two parties and follow the trail in different directions. There's blood all over the place; it's been staggering aroun' since last night at least."

"I want Fang," said Malfoy quickly, his eyes on the dog's teeth.

"Alright, but I warn yeh, he's a coward."

Malfoy paled. Prince rolled his eyes and groaned, annoyed. He ran one hand over the pocket of his robe.

"Draco, you're a wuss. Stick with Hagrid, and I'll go with the bloody dog already." Malfoy turned to glare, but Prince met his eyes dead on. "Well?" Prince grinned. "I wouldn't mind watching you ruin another set of robes, either."

Malfoy flushed and turned away.

"I'm with Fang," Prince repeated, Malfoy glaring daggers at his profile.

Hagrid looked Prince over and then nodded. "Alright then, Draco and Neville are with me, and Alan 'n' Harry will go wit' Fang."

Harry looked over at Prince and found himself weighed and judged by his eyes. Harry met his look unfailingly, and Prince gave him a small nod before turning back to Hagrid. Harry frowned. He still didn't like Prince.

"Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks. If yeh run inter trouble, send up red sparks, and I'll come and find yeh, all right? Be careful – let's go."

The forest was black and silent. While Neville, Malfoy, and Hagrid took the left path, Harry and Prince went to the right, watching the forest floor by the moonlight coming through the trees. They stayed silent, neither with anything in mind to say, until Prince glanced at him and jogged ahead, crouching down to look at the dirt in the trail, his wand lit with pale light. When Harry caught up, he swore and dusted off his hands as he stood.

"Hey, Prince," Harry called. The black-eyed boy turned slightly, still walking. "What were you looking at?"

A small smirk tugged onto his face. "Tracks. It was an idle thought. Couldn't tell much; I just saw shoeprints in the mud."

"What could you tell?"

"Someone walked down here in shoes that aren't Hagrid sized?" Prince offered. "That's about the sum of it. It could've been any teacher."

Harry glanced down and found a few spots that looked like shoe-prints – regular shoe-prints, which were far too small for Hagrid's feet and too large to be anyone their age. Harry nodded faintly in agreement and looked further along the path, letting the conversation die. Prince, however, was slowly growing uncomfortable. His hand kept falling to his pocket, and he glanced back at him repeatedly.

When Harry was about ready to demand he speak his mind, Prince softly said, "P-Potter?" Harry turned to him. Prince smiled weakly. "Thanks. For returning that."

"For returning what?" Moments after he spoke, he remembered, but let it stand. He wanted to know what it was.

Prince flushed. "My… my BB gun."

Harry slapped his forehead. "A gun! That's what it was. I could never remember." Prince gave him a weird look, and Harry just smiled. "Sorry, my mother's muggle-born, so she tells me some things, but I just hadn't been able to place what it was; I've never been very interested in muggle toys."

Prince gave him a look that told him he'd said something really stupid, but he just turned back to following the trail. They hadn't gone far before something whispered over the leaves. Prince froze and, glancing nervously at Harry, pulled his gun from his pocket and aimed it comfortably at the trees around them. Harry copied him, using his wand, but he thought Prince had the advantage; he didn't know that many spells to put down someone or something, much less a someone who could kill a unicorn. Having something reliable would be dead useful. But then again…

"Is… is that thing deadly?" Harry asked.

"Not this one, no," Prince answered quietly. "Most guns are, but this is a little kid's one, that fires BBs – er, ball bearings of a sort. They'll hurt, might take out an eye, but a muggle could do as much with a wand," Prince returned.

Harry paused and thought that a gun – even a BB gun – was a little more dangerous than Prince seemed to think, even if it was supposedly a 'kids' one. "Whoever raised you was nuts."

"Thanks."

Harry shook his head and relaxed slightly. Prince glanced over, and Harry tilted his head towards the path. Prince eased back his gun, but kept it in hand as he moved forward once more along the trail. Harry glanced down. What he'd taken for human tracks were gone now, leaving behind only occasional cloven hoof-prints and splashes of silvery blood.

Ahead of him, Prince winced, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"Prince?"

"I'm fine. Just a headache. I've had them off and on all year."

His tone invited no questions. Harry shrugged it off and continued moving forward. The trees were getting thicker, and after a few more minutes, Prince also asked,

"Is there more blood, you think?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "I think so."

Prince made a disgusted sound. Harry frowned, not sure what to think of _that_.

The trail opened up into a clearing ahead. Prince slowed again and then held out his arm, blocking Harry's path. Feeling contrary, Harry pushed slightly past – and stopped.

The unicorn lay on the ground ahead, its delicate form sprawled across the dark ground like its great spills of blood. Harry swallowed carefully, turning to look back at Prince. The Slytherin was shaking; Fang fled with a startled yelp, and Prince suddenly gasped and fell backwards, shouting,

"Behind you!"

Harry dropped next to Prince before he looked, spinning low to the ground. He froze. There was a black figure crouched over the unicorn, bending low over its neck. Harry felt a surge of nausea. He spread his arms out and found Prince's wrist then waited, both of them dead silent and still – afraid to move, afraid to draw the thing's attention. Harry gripped Prince's wrist and tried to get his attention, but Prince was flat across the ground, panting and wincing, his eyes screwed shut. His right hand had not let go of his BB gun.

Time stretched. The urge to vomit grew stronger, the nerves in his belly squirming unpleasantly. Finally, the creature looked up – and locked eyes with Harry. He felt its regard shift to the boy next to him, and Harry's limbs regained feeling. Harry finally dragged Prince to his feet before checking on the figure again.

It was a good thing he did after getting Prince up. He froze, the thing's black cloak closing in on them. Prince, however, did not. His eyes snapped open and his arm came up. The gun fired sharply several times; the black figure doubled over, screamed inhumanly, and fled the clearing into the darkness. Prince stared after it blankly until Harry pulled on his arm and took off running back up the trail. They followed it blindly, Prince keeping pace easily behind him, until they both were panting for breath and Harry had narrowly avoided running into a tree. After a few moments, Harry sent up red sparks and slid down to the ground, Prince collapsing across from him.

"What … was that?" Harry panted.

"Dunno." Prince flapped a hand uselessly, white showing all around his eyes. "Damn scary. _Merlin, Mary, and Mordred,_ it was scary."

Harry snorted at the phrase and received a glare. Prince growled and stroked his limp hair out of his face.

"Something's not right here."

Harry paused and stared back at him. Prince was watching him closely. He didn't want to say he agreed. "What's not right?"

"I don't know. But something's _wrong_. I can feel it. I didn't used to get these headaches."

Harry frowned and curled up around his legs. Thinking about what he knew, he finally voiced it. "Something's wrong."

"Something's wrong," Prince agreed. "What do you know?"

Harry slowly spoke, trying to put it together. "Dumbledore moved something out of Gringotts right before it was robbed – the vault he emptied was the one robbed. We have a three-headed dog down the forbidden corridor – you saw that, right?"

Prince nodded curtly. "It's there. I opened the door our first week; Quirrell pulled me out before the dog charged."

Quirrell. He'd been approached only yesterday, hadn't he? Harry shook it off. "Whatever it is, the teachers know and are protecting it. I think someone tried to get it Hallowe'en – that's why they let in the troll. And now they're trying to get to it through a teacher."

Prince looked about to object, but Hagrid came. Their conversation was over.

Back in the castle, Harry lay in bed and looked back on it. Something was missing; something else wasn't right. He just couldn't pinpoint _what_.

IIII

By the next week, he was steeped in exams and hardly taking a moment to think about anything else. They did the written exams in stuffy rooms with special quills, and then were called up for practicals: making a pineapple tap dance across Flitwick's desk, and turning a mouse into a snuffbox. Brewing a forgetfulness potion just struck Harry as vindictive on Snape's part, but he was comfortable with how well he'd done.

When Binns announced the end of the History of Magic test, Harry cheered with the rest of his classmates and followed Hermione, Ron, and Neville outside to sit and bask in the sun under a tree on the lake's edge. Listening to the hum of Neville and Hermione discussing the points of the test, Harry let Ron lie next to him as he turned thoughts over and through his mind.

They had a week before their results came out and they were all going to head home. Harry wondered how his parents would like to see him and what they might get up to. He and Neville could try and find that pathway through the woods on the Potter grounds again… he was _sure_ he could remember where it was…

Thinking about the forest turned Harry's mind back to his conversation with Prince. Something still wasn't sitting right with him.

What was Quirrell doing on the third floor, anyway? His classroom was on the first, but he'd somehow been there to get Prince out of trouble when peeking into the forbidden corridor. He was probably just checking on the spot himself; he _is_ a teacher, but wouldn't he have had a class to watch out for?

Why was it locked so carelessly, anyways?

Harry shifted and tried to get more comfortable. He was just being ridiculous. Prince clearly knew magic like he and Neville did: well in excess of their peers. But something any student could open? Harry knew nothing beyond third-year; Neville knew a few fourth-year spells, but more second-year work. What on earth could Prince know? He didn't score any better than Neville did in class.

_And what gives with Hagrid?_ his subconscious supplied. Hagrid _just happened_ to get a dragon's egg he _just happened _to have always wanted from a stranger who _just happened_ to have one and _just happened_ to be in the pub and _just happened _to get him drunk and talk about great big vicious creatures and _how to calm them_.

Harry sat bolt upright and glared at the lake.

"You okay, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Fine," he answered. It was all groundless speculation. What could a first-year student do, anyways?

A sneaky little voice in the back of his mind repeated, _but you're not just any first-year student, are you, Potter? _

Harry ignored it and turned to Ron. "Wanna try to play some chess?"

* * *

A/N: On time this time, and yes, I do leave you hanging, don't I?

Enjoy!

Fire & Napalm


	4. Chapter 4

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Four:**

Distracting himself only lasted until after dinner and losing to Ron for the third time that evening. Fidgeting, he finally drew Neville and Hermione closer and began to whisper his suspicions. None of them disagreed; Hermione squeaked, and Ron began to stutter with nerves. Neville gazed at him levelly and asked, "But what are we going to do?"

Harry glanced at the clock – it was an hour or two past curfew – and sighed. "Well, I'd say talk to a teacher, but who would listen? Maybe if we just take a look, I'll feel better about it."

Neville didn't argue, and they waited for the room to empty before Harry went upstairs and fetched his cloak.

He was soon grateful that he, Neville and Hermione were so small. They wouldn't have fit very well otherwise, much less, as they included Ron's lanky form. They slipped outside and down the corridors, moving slowly and silently onwards. They had a near miss with Peeves, and then...

Harry pulled off the cloak and stared silently at the third floor corridor. The others looked with him.

"It's open," Neville breathed. "I… Go take a look?"

Leaving the others under the cloak, Harry went and pushed open the door. The great dog snarled at him, but Harry stayed in the doorway, looking around. At the dog's feet rested a harp. Harry asked, "Neville, c'mere."

Taking the cloak off all of them, Neville came over and glanced over at the harp. "Oh, clever."

"What do we do now?" Harry felt a helpless shiver in his chest. He didn't know. Everything he knew told him to act, to do something – but his instincts were screaming at him that it was somebody else's problem.

Dumbledore wouldn't have brought anything here if he hadn't been confident in its security.

Would he?

"Harry-… you can't," Neville said. His friend knew him too well. "C'mon, we'll go get the teachers. They'll know what to do. McGonagall and Snape-… Harry, c'mon."

"I can't." He didn't know where it came from. "Neville, I have to go after it."

"You're a _first-year student, Harry_!" Neville snarled. "What're you gonna do, shoot _sparks_ at him?"

Harry blinked at him, and then he smiled – he didn't even know why. "Well, I have to do _something_."

Harry pointed his wand and glared at the harp. Nothing happened. He ignored Neville's silent tantrum next to him until his friend shot a spell at the harp. It slowly began to play a simple repetition of notes. The dog began to sag asleep, and Neville grabbed his shoulder impatiently.

"Harry…" Neville growled. "You're a _stupid idiot_, Harry, and if you get yourself killed I'm _never_ going to forgive you."

"Good." Harry smiled. "I'd never forgive myself either." Harry ignored the hollow feeling in his chest, screaming that he was wrong, but he moved into the room and began to tug at the trap door. A second pair of hands joined him, and Harry looked up into Ron's face.

"What're you doing?" Harry whispered. The dog next to them huffed, sending hot air over the goose bumps on their arms.

"Coming with you."

The trap door came up, and they let it down with a soft thud. Harry stared into the darkness and sighed. "You don't need to."

"I'm going with you, Harry," Ron repeated. "Neville and Hermione can alert the teachers."

Harry heard the harp begin to play quieter and lowered himself down. "Follow me quickly, then. Neville's spell is wearing off."

Ron nodded, looking pale, and Harry dropped.

It was a very long drop.

_Flump_.

Harry rolled and felt around the floor beneath him. It was a large, tangled mess of vines – moving a lot more than was comfortable.

Ron landed nearby with the same sort of sound, and Harry quickly ushered him to move. Harry had to pull his arms free of several questing tendrils and stagger towards the door, waiting for Ron to join him with the same difficulty. As they leaned back, away from it, Ron gaped.

"What was that?"

"If I had to hazard a guess," Harry shrugged, "Devil's Snare, maybe? Only thing I can think of, at least. Nice and dangerous. All I really remember is that it can strangle you."

"Oh." Ron followed him down the long stone passageway, Harry moving quickly out of nerves. They were down here now; there was no way back up. The only sounds were their footsteps and the slow drip of water down the stone walls.

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered.

Harry strained. A soft rustling – or was it flapping? – came from up ahead. A beam of light bloomed, and they came abreast of another room.

It was a tall chamber, with an arched ceiling. Across from them, the only exit they could see was a large, heavy wooden door. Tumbling and wheeling through the air was a flock of jewel-bright birds.

"Oh, great," Ron groaned. "Do you think they're gonna attack?"

"Wouldn't put it past them," Harry groused. Covering his head, Harry darted across the room to the door, but nothing came down upon him. As he'd dreaded, the door was locked. Ron came up as he was trying a few spells, but after a moment he let it go, disgusted.

"You got any bright ideas?" Harry snapped.

"We could try and catch whichever key goes with the door," Ron pointed up. Fortunately, he didn't sound offended.

Upon a second look, Harry saw what he'd missed before: the jewel-bright birds were _keys. _Flying keys.

"Oh, Merlin," Harry breathed. "Which one?"

Ron gestured at the handle vaguely. "I'll bet it's like the handle. Big, old-fashioned, silver…"

Harry glowered up, and then, he spotted the broomsticks. He grinned.

"Wanna see how well we fly?"

Ron looked at the brooms and grinned. "You're on."

Darting and weaving through the keys, Harry looked quickly around, scanning…

"There, Ron! Below you, to your right – big one, blue wings! It's already been ruffled, see the feathers?"

Ron dove on it, and the key reversed – straight at Harry. It darted to the side at the last moment, and Harry leaned and accelerated almost backwards to follow, twisting, reaching –

Harry got the key as it skimmed past a gargoyle at the top of the room, his hand closing hard enough to draw blood on the metal. He dropped down and wrestled it into the keyhole, unlocking the door and hauling it open before he released it to fly off again, thoroughly disgruntled. He and Ron stepped together into the dark, open room. As they paused, looking around, Ron stepped forward once more and light flared across the room, blinding them.

When their vision cleared, they looked around in awe.

They were on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black pieces, all of which were taller than a man, carved of black stone. Across from them were the white pieces, cut the same way – none of them with any faces. Harry looked away quickly, studying the board.

"What do you think, Ron?"

"I think we probably have to play our way across."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to be stuck here, playing chess. You're good, but it would probably take some time."

Ron shrugged and gestured at the board. "Then how do we get across?"

"Maybe we can walk."

Harry passed the black pieces, feeling an itching tension in his back, and came abreast of the white. When he came within one pace of them, the white pawns suddenly drew their swords, crossing over each space between as the ranking pieces behind turned to stare at him. Harry raised his chin and looked to the walls, where space was left for the 'killed' pieces. After another moment biting his lip, Harry backed off and turned to Ron with a grimace.

"Your turn."

IIII

Harry sat against the wall, his head against the stone as he stared listlessly at the table and the black fire beyond. What had he been thinking? A first-year student, braving the tasks and tribulations of masters of their field? Bullshit. And now, here he was, stuck. Stuck dead in the room because he couldn't figure out the puzzle. He needed either Hermione or Neville – more likely Hermione; she put up with confusion better.

That, or he needed a bezoar.

He curled up and put his head on his knees, feeling helpless and ashamed. He'd only come down here because it was something he thought he was supposed to do – he was in Gryffindor after all.

_Mind you, Potter, always remember your house should have been Slytherin_.

He should've remembered. Slytherins didn't jump in thinking they'd find the ground below. They waited until they were sure – they didn't jump if they were only going to brain themselves, either. Harry was acting the fool, and he was paying the price.

Neville and Hermione should've found a teacher by now.

He bit back a laugh that threatened to become a sob. He was so _stupid_. He didn't even know if Ron was _alive_. He curled up and tried to defeat the urge to sob. Slowly, it faded, but not before he'd shed a few tears.

_Don't cry,_ a voice in his mind said. Harry sniffled slightly and let his sadness slide away. _Take another look_.

Harry pulled himself up and glanced over the table again, picking up the riddle. _Would Snape have used the same poisons_?_ He wouldn't, right_?So the two identical would be wine…that means that the far left edge is poison, and the other… the other would take him back, leaving him with two bottles: the largest, which should be nettle wine, and the smallest…

_Drink_.

Harry drank.

Ice flooded his body and Harry knew where his feet were going even as he didn't think about it. He stepped through the black fire, the flames licking at his sides, but he felt nothing. His vision was swamped by the flames before he stepped out in the chamber beyond and found himself staring into Quirrell's eyes.

The teacher didn't look anything like how he'd behaved all year. Harry blinked in confusion. Something wasn't adding up.

"Hello, Harry." Quirrell smiled. "How nice of you to join me."

Harry felt a desire to nod and instead slid his head to the side and blinked vacantly. Something really wasn't adding up; this didn't make sense.

"Come here, Harry."

Harry walked over casually and smiled tremulously.

"Very good. Wait here."

Harry stayed in place, but he watched as Quirrell moved to stalk around the tall, elegant mirror in the middle of the floor. He was touching it gently, smoothing his fingers along the edges and lines and staring deep into its surface. His hand fisted, but he forced himself away and called Harry over to him again. His confusion mounting, Harry went, and Quirrell took hold of his shoulders and spun him around as panic wracked his mind. What was he _doing_?

He looked into the mirror and tried to find Quirrell's reflection, to see what he was thinking, but Quirrell wasn't reflected in the mirror. There was nobody behind him that he could see – he couldn't even see himself; instead, he saw a young man about Charlie Weasley's age staring back at him. He was wearing very plain Hogwarts robes – no extra badges, no awards, only a small green house badge, and a soft smile, a smirk really, crossing his face.

Harry stared for a long moment, not comprehending. The boy was a Slytherin, he wore the crest like all Slytherins on his very fine, black school robes, and he had short black hair that refused to be tamed and thin-framed black glasses over brilliant green eyes. His smile softened, but it wasn't any less confident... it was more understanding – pitying.

Harry didn't want to see it anymore, but he couldn't tear his eyes away – he couldn't, and he _didn't know why_.

"Pathetic," A high, sibilant voice intoned. "He is useless. Get rid of him, Quirrell."

Something hit the side of his head, and Harry stumbled to the ground. He had a moment's glimpse of Quirrell, the man's wand raised furiously. Harry's head throbbed in pain before bright light swamped him and carried him away.

IIII

"Neville, wait up!"

Skidding to a halt, Neville cursed himself and waited impatiently for Hermione. She caught up, clutching a stitch in her side and watching him.

"You skinny bastard." She bit her lip and then continued, "How do you run like that?"

Neville grinned. "Racing around the house with my dad. I'm always running."

"Just wait up for me!"

Neville nodded and continued onward at a slow trot, Hermione right behind him. He was trying to figure out where the teachers would be. All he knew was where the staff room was…

"Who's there?" a girl called. "What's going on here?"

Neville paused and glanced back. A curly-haired Prefect – Gryffindor, he saw – came up behind them.

"It's almost midnight!" the Prefect scolded. "What on earth do you think you're doing out and about?" Getting a good look at them she scowled even darker. "You're first-years, aren't you?"

"Yes, we're looking for McGonagall or Dumbledore or any of the teachers."

Her eyebrows went up. "What do you need the teachers late in the night for?"

"We just came from the third floor corridor," Neville said. "Harry was worried and wanted someone to check it. I volunteered to alert a teacher."

"Bloody Hell," the Prefect moaned. "C'mon, I know where McGonagall's rooms are, and then I'll go to Dumbledore."

Neville and Hermione followed her. She dropped them at a portrait and went on herself to find Dumbledore. Neville pounded on the portrait for what felt like half an hour before McGonagall thrust it open, furious.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Neville wrung his hands and blurted out, "I think someone's gone down the third floor corridor. I don't know who, or what they want, but I'm really worried, Professor!"

She scowled. "Why are you here so late? Never mind." Neville opened his mouth, but she waved him off as she slipped back inside and grabbed her wand before stepping out.

"A Gryffindor Prefect went to get Dumbledore," Neville added.

"Unfortunately, Dumbledore is not here, and I'm not pleased to have you waking me. The item is well protected, but if you are willing to risk a scold this late in the year, I think you need something at least to put you at ease." She sent something silver and shiny from her wand and led them down to the staff room, Hermione, at least, glad for the slightly slower pace.

They made it down there and waited some time for the door to open again. It wasn't Dumbledore, however. Hermione stiffened beside Neville and straightened in her seat. Neville sighed.

Severus Snape glanced between them and frowned at McGonagall. "You asked for me?" He had something in his other hand, Neville guessed, because he was holding it out of sight. Neville sighed. Potions. Probably either calming or sleep – one of the two. But at least he had their attention.

"Yes. Longbottom and Granger here plainly are not sleeping for worrying about the third floor corridor and need to get some rest." Her eyes scolded them and Snape placed the phials upon the table.

"But Professor –"

"No buts, Miss Granger," McGonagall scolded. "There is no reason to worry."

"Where is Potter, Longbottom?" Snape asked abruptly.

Neville blinked. "In bed, sir, waiting to hear from me."

Snape swore. "What in the blazes is he _thinking_?"

Neville swallowed and looked at his hands. He hadn't expected Snape to believe him. "I don't think he was, sir," Neville mumbled. "But when we found the door open and the dog quiet…"

Snape stalked to the door, and then halted. "How was the dog quieted, Longbottom? Tell me now."

"Music, sir." Neville looked up, determined to look at him. "Play music, and he goes to sleep."

"Minerva, come with me. I need to get past your bloody chess set."

"Now really, Severus –"

"Minerva, there _is_ someone who has been after the stone, and besides that, this is _James Potter's son_ who has taken it upon himself to go after it! For the love of Merlin, woman, use your _brains_!"

"Harry is not his father, Severus –"

"He is stubbornly behaving as much like him as possible, Minerva! Do not think I am so foolish as to not notice his behaviour and see it for what it is! But it has placed him in danger, even _if_ there is no one after the damn thing! Now unless you wish to have his parents after your blood, you will _help me_!" He stormed out the door.

McGonagall spluttered and ran out the door after him. Neville glanced at Hermione before they both followed.

As they came up and abreast of the third floor corridor, Neville saw McGonagall's robes slip past the door. He and Hermione arrived to see both teachers standing by the trapdoor. Snape glanced up and saw them. He frowned.

"You will not follow us down. Remain here, or go to bed; if anyone comes and questions your presence, tell them _exactly _what is going on – no prevarication and no lies, Longbottom!"

"Yes sir," Neville nodded. McGonagall had dropped down with Snape straight after, lowering themselves into the hole to drop into the darkness below.

Neville stood by the door, listening to the harp music and the dog's snores as he stared between the corridor outside and the hole in the floor to below.

IIII

Coming into the room with the keys, Snape swore under his breath. "I will personally see to it that Flitwick regrets his foolish idea of _flying keys_."

"Really now, Severus." McGonagall straightened her top hat from where it had been snatched by the Devil's Snare upon her landing. "You are just feeling downright foolish faced with this. It is not that difficult."

"You were a chaser when you were in school, were you not, Minerva?" He grandly indicated the brooms. "Would you like to chase the key down yourself, or should I start hexing them out of the air?"

Minerva sniffed delicately and mounted a broom. Within five minutes she produced for him the key in question, which had been flying much slower after its previous two captures. He sneered and unlocked the door briskly before he moved into the next room.

The chess set had been returned to its normal state, aside from the crumpled form of Ron Weasley off the edge of the board. McGonagall immediately went to his side. She breathed a sigh of relief after two quick spells.

"He's fine, just unconscious."

"You were the one who enchanted the chess set."

"I did not enchant them to be delicate, Severus. I assume you can address the last two tasks yourself?" she asked sternly. Severus curtly nodded and waited for her to dispel the ward on the white side so as to allow him beyond to the next room. He entered and found the troll sitting on the floor rubbing its head thickly.

He did not have time to deal kindly with trolls. A Dark concussion hex knocked the troll back to the ground, and Severus moved onward, urgency eating at his steps. He passed through his doorway and found to his consternation that the small phial was empty. Turning, he glared at the black fire before he began the painstaking task of dispelling the flame.

It took him several frustratingly long minutes to get it to fade, during which he felt the watchful presence of another in the room beyond. The feeling fed the urge for haste in getting past the barrier.

The spell snapped. Severus darted through the fading flame into a nightmare.

Quirrell was kneeling on the ground over Potter's sprawled body. He could see nothing of what he was doing to the boy, and his stomach twisted painfully. He ran, he was not too dignified to say, and came abreast to see their faces inches apart, both mouths open. A smoky light was trailing between them – he didn't need to see more.

He silently cast a dark cutting curse. The spell hit Quirrell's knee, cutting deep and breaking the man's concentration. Quirrell straightened, furious, his eyes flashing red before fading once more. The man stubbornly readjusted his turban.

"Severus! How _dare_ you interfere!"

Severus snarled. "You will not touch that boy!"

"Do you know who you are defying?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I said, you – will – _not_ – touch – that – boy."

Spells flew from Quirrell's wand; Severus dodged and shielded, moving away from the mirror in the middle of the room, drawing Quirrell away from Harry. He ducked, and cast his cutting curse once more. Quirrell dodged – straight into the prank spell that hauled him up by his ankles.

Severus' next spell did not miss.

The bone-chilling scream as a spectre left Quirrel's body froze Severus in place for several long moments before he shook it off and, dropping Quirrell, moved quickly to Potter's side. His hands moved between the boy's forehead and throat, checking his vitals. Harry was sweating, but cold – his pulse thin and rapid against his throat. Finally, Severus patted his cheeks softly.

"Potter, Potter wake up. Do you hear me? _Harry_!"

Green eyes blinked open for a moment, but did not focus. Wide pupils darkened their colour as he fretfully looked around the chamber. Weakly, he whispered, "Is… is he gone?"

"He's gone, Harry. He's gone," Severus assured him. "Sleep, Harry. I will keep you safe."

Vaguely Harry murmured something that sounded like 'Sorry,' before slipping into unconsciousness once more. Severus cradled his head carefully as he lowered him down and bit his lip.

That had been too close. Far too close.

How would he explain to Lily? How could he have explained if her son… If her son had been taken, possessed by the Dark Lord?

That had been far too close. Far too close for comfort, and the poor boy…

Would Dumbledore give him any peace?

IIII

Harry woke to the familiar sound of his parents arguing. Slowly, they became coherent.

"–what that bastard thought he was doing with my son, hauling him in here looking like a right mess! I _told_ him he wasn't to lay a hand on my boy–"

"That's just plain _stupid_, James, Severus was caring for Harry's life when he brought him in here–"

"What put him in danger in the first place? From what Neville told me, it was your letters that put his back up–"

"If you want to throw around blame, it was _Dumbledore's_ idea to hide the damn thing in the school in the first place! If it was never here, there never would've been the temptation, now would there?"

"You're just trying to get him off –"

"From what Neville said, it was _Severus_ who cared enough about Harry to go after him when McGonagall wouldn't believe them! If he hadn't gone down there, James…" His mother's voice broke. "Do you really want to think about that? Stop fretting, James, please."

"Lily…"

"If you have made her cry again, Potter…" Harry recognized Severus' voice.

"Enough!" Lily barked. "I don't need you arguing! Severus, what happened?"

"As far as I can tell, _your son_ has decided he needs to act the little Gryffindor to be in your good graces," by the vicious tone he was using, Severus must be addressing his father; Harry had never heard that tone with his mum, "so he went gallivanting after what looked like a fine adventure and endangered the safety of both himself, his friends, _and_ what Dumbledore was trying to protect."

"How dare you!" James snarled. "He was doing what he thought needed to be done –"

"Which happened to include breaking hundreds of school rules and putting his life in danger. That doesn't remind me of anyone at all –"

"My son is a _fine_ boy –"

"Yet he can't keep his neck out of trouble at all this year, can he?"

"Severus, shut _up,_" Lily growled. "James, that's _quite _enough. Stop complaining – everything he's said is true!"

"Lily, you cannot believe him –"

"I believe enough of what is important to know that that's _just like_ you."

"It is not!"

"No, James, it is. You were a reckless young man with no respect for the rules, and you believed you always knew best. Don't try to deny it. You've flouted Dumbledore on enough occasions... you don't have a leg to stand on."

"Give me one examp–"

"_Remus John Lupin_."

Harry smiled to himself, as his father couldn't answer.

"James, please. You cannot be so blind you can't see what your son has been doing. Harry has been emulating you for years, James – why do you think he was so anxious coming home? He's trying to act just like you, or just like he thinks you would."

"He is doing a commendable job," Severus murmured.

"Severus," Lily groaned.

Dumbledore spoke up. "Lily is quite right, James. Harry is very much your son, for good and ill." Harry heard chairs scrape and listened intently, keeping his thoughts at bay. "Sit down, both of you –"

"How is he, Albus? Please, tell me how he is."

"He is fine, James. There should be few to no ill effects from his adventure."

"What was he doing down there, Albus?" Lily scolded. "You said the stone was safe, and yet…" She made an inarticulate angry noise. "My son may be talented, but if he got past all those safeguards –"

"There is only one concern here, Lily," Albus reassured her. "The last safeguard was never breached, and even then, there were cautions. Also, while this makes me most sad to tell you, your son was placed under the Imperius curse last night. There is no way to tell when it began – he could have been enchanted since his last class with Professor Quirrell."

"He is safe now?" his father asked uneasily.

"Yes. Quirrell, unfortunately, perished when Severus intervened and Voldemort left his body."

"_Voldemort_?" James roared. "What do you mean, _Voldemort_? _What did he do to my son_?"

"Sit down!" Dumbledore said. "James, your son is perfectly fine. Any magical effects from that night are gone. The only thing to deal with now is his reaction, which will not be aided if you are distraught. You know better than this, James. You must support him."

"Why my son? Why Harry?"

"We cannot know. Perhaps it was convenience, perhaps only coincidence. We know that Voldemort was looking for an extension of his life, and, when he could not get the stone, turned his attempts to your son, looking, I believe, for another, stronger host." There was a furious sound, and Dumbledore spoke up quickly. "His attempts failed, partly due to Severus' timely arrival and partly due to Harry's own tenacious hold on life."

"He'll be okay, then?"

"Your son should be fine. I would like to speak with him first, and then, you may come in. Severus, I believe they could do with a meal in the staff room?"

Murmuring voices preceded the door opening and closing, and Harry was shortly treated to the curtains around his bed parting. Dumbledore smiled down at him. Harry quickly looked at his hands. Dumbledore settled into a chair by his bedside and smiled.

"I am very impressed with you, Mr Potter."

"What, sir?" Harry mumbled, unwilling to speak up.

"You did admirably well in passing the safeguards arrayed about the stone."

"The what?" Harry looked up, curious.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Dear me. You went all that way and didn't know what was there? That is very Gryffindor of you, Harry, although in the end it served you well when faced with the Mirror of Erised."

"The Mirror of what? Sir, what was it all? What was going on?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "A friend entrusted to me a valuable artifact that I placed here under guard. It has been dealt with and neutralized. That is all you need to know.

"As for the Mirror, it is a dangerous device indeed. It would only be an ordinary mirror for the happiest man in the world – to everyone else… Could you make a guess, Harry? I believe you looked into it that night."

Harry blinked at him a moment and then shook his head. "I don't believe so, sir. I don't remember anything about it."

Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. "A most sad effect indeed, but unavoidable. You were dealt with most harshly – a blow to ones head can lead to the loss of the memories preceding. I suppose that is then beside the point. Harry, how are you feeling?"

"Sir?" Harry looked up carefully. Dumbledore was watching him intently.

"I asked, dear Harry, how you are feeling now that your adventure is over."

Harry ducked his head again and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Dear me, boy, whatever for?"

"I messed up your protections. Just… went down there, risking my life…"

"Harry, you were not in control."

Harry glared at him. "Just because you told my parents you can't say when I was put under the Imperius doesn't mean I can't judge it a bit better myself."

Dumbledore stared at him through his half-moon spectacles for a long time. Harry began to flush and fiddle with the blankets before Dumbledore said softly,

"Harry, child. You have two paths before you. You may believe, if you like, that you were not in control – Voldemort may very well have placed you under when last he saw you previous to your trip. You may also choose to believe that you simply made a mistake, child, one that is best to be learned from and put aside for all involved. You have survived, and you will yet thrive, whichever view you accept."

Harry slowed the fiddling with his blanket and found he could believe it, that he had been under the spell the whole time. Certainly it would explain his insistent behaviour upon pursuing an action he knew to be folly. But…

But it wasn't true. He had made the choice. He knew he had, and, more importantly, he knew _why_ he had.

"It was a mistake, Headmaster," Harry whispered. He lifted his head to meet Dumbledore's eyes confidently. "It won't happen again."

Dumbledore watched him for several moments before a smile brightened his face and brought a twinkle to his eyes. "I look forward to seeing you again next year, Harry. I think I shall let your parents in, now. They are most eager to see you and assure themselves of your health."

Harry nodded, blushing lightly. Dumbledore rested a hand on his shoulder and finally said quietly, "Perhaps it will be better to leave your parents believing that which they may prefer, than to tell them right now how it really was. But I leave that up to you."

Harry watched him go, confused and wondering what to do now. He was still a little dazed when his mother came in and wrapped him in a hug as his father stroked his hair. Both were crying, his father silently, as they held him close. It took him a minute to pull himself back to the present, a reaction they did not question – although he couldn't think why, not then.

He was just glad he was seeing them again. Even if there were things he could not – would not – tell them. He was happy just to have his parents.

IIII

In the Slytherin dungeons, Alan Prince straightened out on his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling.

It had faded throughout the day, but now he was sure his headache was finally gone.

He didn't know why. And he still didn't know its cause.

IIII

James smoothed Harry's hair from his face as his slept in his bed in the hospital wing. He was so _young_; he hadn't felt that young his first year at Hogwarts. It must be because he was now a parent, looking down at his own child… A child that had nearly died.

His heart clenched.

"Still here?"

"Yeah," James answered Dumbledore without looking from his boy. "I just… want to be sure he's safe. Even if the danger's past, or the immediate one at any rate." His throat tightened as he thought to the past – to a quick exit from the home he'd wanted to share with Lily, leaving to the safety of the Potter Manor.

"It wasn't just convenience that Harry was targeted, was it Dumbledore?"

"I find it unlikely," Dumbledore nodded, "but all the same we know little of Voldemort's true intentions. That it was your son and Neville Longbottom who were involved makes me believe less in coincidence."

"But it was Harry who went down," James pointed out quietly. "My son who was put under. My son he tried to possess."

"Prophecies are naturally amorphous. We may not know for sure what it means until after it has come to pass."

James nodded slowly, stroking Harry's smooth brow, the boy's hair a mirror of his own – unruly, misbehaving, and crude. James needed to teach him more – he'd ask Lily to move several books into Harry's room. "You're right." He nodded. "But better to be prepared."

"Better indeed." The Headmaster started to move away, but paused. "Do be careful, James. He is still but a child – he deserves as much childhood as he can get. With Voldemort striving to live…"

"I fought that war to give my son this peace," James said. "I won't take it from him, but neither will I let the possibility of Voldemort's return take him from me, not while I have breath in my body. I won't push him to learn, but if he wants to know, I'll tell him. That's how I've already done it. I see no reason to change."

Albus remained silent for a moment. "Thank you, James."

The door shut quietly behind the Headmaster. James stroked Harry's forehead again and bent down to kiss him softly. Harry mumbled something and rolled to the other side, shifting in his sleep. James felt the reflex of his Auror years turn him to scan the hospital wing. No one else was there. All the threats he feared were far away…

He'd watch for his son; eleven wasn't the time to learn to fight. Not yet.

If James had his way, Harry never would. But that wasn't his choice – it wasn't even Harry's. Still, though… he watched out for him in the empty hospital wing.

* * *

A/N: Well, this is late. Family emergency came up. But now, here ya go!

Hope you liked First Year, Second Year coming next month - four weeks. Unless I get optimistic and opt for two. Don't hold your breath.

Much obliged,

Fire & Napalm


	5. Chapter 5

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

Part II

**Chapter Five:**

Harry raced around a tree and shot towards the front drive on his broom. Neville hollered at him from behind, struggling to keep up and avoid the tree. He cussed; Harry grinned. Given Neville's luck, he'd hit the tree again. His friend would have to accelerate again to catch up. Harry was enjoying his new Nimbus 2001, and he was getting the feel of it before he went back to school and tried out for the Quidditch team.

If it meant he got to send Neville wheeling about in circles, all the better. Neville needed reminding there were things he didn't do well.

Twenty feet in front of him, a tall man in star-dusted robes Apparated into place. It took only a second to recognize Albus Dumbledore – it took Quidditch reflexes to roll his broom away so he didn't run straight into the man himself. Harry came to a quick stop and dropped to the ground, yelling,

"Sir, get out of the way!"

Dumbledore stepped aside moments before Neville flew past his shoulder, still trying to stop. The other boy came to the ground and tumbled off his broom, rolling several feet before he springing back up, his face brilliantly red.

"I'm so sorry, Professor Dumbledore, really sorry!" Neville burst. "I didn't mean to almost hit you, you just came out of nowhere, and I didn't have time –"

"Very well, Neville." Dumbledore smiled. "I am well aware of the dangers of young boys racing about at home. You did very well to let me know, Harry, and you, Neville." He looked down at him through his glasses. "I am glad you have not hurt yourself coming to the ground."

Neville was still brilliantly red.

"Now then, I believe your parents would most likely be inside?"

"Yes, sir. Do you want me to go get them?"

"No, I do believe they are coming now."

Harry looked up the path, and sure enough, a group of adults he knew very well were coming down the lane, some at a trot, some walking more sedately behind.

A man with messy black hair and glasses, Harry's father, was the first to arrive.

"Albus, what is this about you getting in the way of my son while he's flying?" He was grinning brightly. "You need to be careful about that; Neville still has some troubles with the brakes on his broom." He ruffled his godson's hair. "He's still learning."

"That's because your son is a cheater." Frank added, "Natural flying ability and all. That kid took off on a training broom that barely went two feet in the air and managed to get from his room all the way downstairs and out the door when he was four! I couldn't talk Neville onto a broom until he was six."

Dumbledore smiled between them. "I take it this was a family gathering?"

"Just a few of us." James nodded. "Did you have something you wished to discuss?"

"A few things, yes. But first, I would love a cup of tea."

The two men both nodded and turned to lead him back inside. Frank waved at the two boys over his shoulder; it meant they were to go back to what they had been doing. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Harry?"

He turned to Neville and raised a quiet eyebrow.

"We're not going to hear anything, you know," Neville pointed out. "Not since you overheard the plans for a safe-house and nearly spilled the beans at a party. My dad looked up wards to block eavesdropping."

"Thanks, Neville." Harry flushed. "Let's see you keep up here, then." Harry picked up his broom and kicked off hard, heading straight into the air. He flew as fast as his broom would go, but it didn't help.

Why did he have the feeling they were talking about him? He didn't like it at all. They'd been doing it all summer; his parents had been watching him carefully, too. Nobody had said anything to him – they never did. He had new books in his room, less restrictions when playing with his wand…

And nobody had said one thing.

IIII

Two weeks before they were due back at school, Harry went to Diagon Alley with Neville to meet Ron and Hermione. Most of the day they raced around, but Harry was staring at Flourish and Blotts nervously. There was a very large crowd outside, and he felt no interest in going in.

About an hour later, his mother came up the street from Ollivanders, arguing with, Mrs Weasley as usual.

"Molly, it's ridiculous to keep this up, it is my birthday gift to your daughter to pay for her new wand. Your birthday _was_ yesterday, wasn't it, Ginny?" The small redheaded girl nodded shyly. "She deserves a great wand for Hogwarts, and I haven't gotten her anything else."

Harry stifled the desire to smile. It was an ongoing argument between his parents and the Weasleys about their money. The only kids who hadn't been bothered by it were Charlie, Fred and George – they'd been too busy thinking of other things, as far as Harry knew.

Lily came abreast of Flourish and Blotts and scowled at the cluster of people.

"Well then." She glanced over the crowd, and Harry shortly saw what she was glaring at.

Gilderoy Lockhart

Will be signing copies of his autobiography,

Magical Me

Today 12:30 – 4:30 pm

"I'm sorry, Molly, but I do have free time tomorrow and would much rather not brave the crowds. You will be all right going in there?"

"Certainly." Mrs Weasley primped her hair slightly, her cheeks pink. "I'll take my kids, then, and here's Arthur. You have a good day tomorrow, then?"

"Of course." Harry's mother smiled, and he caught her eye as they moved up the street, Neville waving and following behind.

"Mum," Harry asked, "why don't you want to go in?"

"It's too crowded."

Neville snorted. "And what's the real reason?"

She turned and frowned at both of them, but a smile twitched onto her face. "I greatly dislike Lockhart and have no desire to try and crowd through a number of _other _fools to shake his hand. It would take forever to get hold of your books that way." She glanced around. "Do either of you know where Remus is?"

Harry looked at Neville, but his friend was shaking his head. "Normally, I'd say the bookstore, but…"

"No, he wouldn't be anywhere near there either." Lily stopped and finally waved them into Quality Quidditch Supplies while she waited outside to find him. Twenty minutes later, she called them out. Remus was flushed and smiling grimly.

"I'm sorry, Lily, I got waylaid by Lucius Malfoy looking for a fight. I bypassed him, but not five minutes later, he was in Flourish and Blotts, picking one with Arthur. I stopped to help Arthur back to his feet before moving on."

His mother's hands opened and closed, but her face remained pleasant. "It's alright, I can understand that. If only James had been free… I'll bring him tomorrow, it's his day off."

"Tomorrow?"

Her brows went up. "Do you really think I'm going to suffer through that crowd for a set of useless books? I think Harry and Neville deserve time to look for an auxiliary book to actually _learn_ from this year."

Remus smiled before he caught himself. "That makes more sense. Very well."

IIII

Back in Flourish and Blotts the next day, Harry and Neville threw together the required books from the list – placing the _Standard Book of Spells_ gently on top – and then began to raid the shelves for something interesting. Harry had two Quidditch books denied and found three Defence tomes that were too advanced before he finally gave up and asked to find something in their personal library. His father laughed and agreed, and Harry went up to the front to look over the displays as he waited for Neville to finish picking out his own.

The door rang as someone else came in, and Harry glanced up, curious. He froze where he was, forcing his hands loose.

"There. That circus of Lockhart's is over and we can do the work reasonably," a tall, old man with sparse brown hair said. His hand was on the shoulder of a small, light-haired boy Harry knew to be Theodore Nott. He was a Slytherin and very quiet – here, he kept his head down, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. "Find something worth reading, Theodore, and get back here."

While his son went into the shelves, Mr Nott regarded the displays. Harry felt his eyes fall on him, and decided he'd do better to just go find his parents. He didn't like Mr Nott, and neither did they, not after fighting against him in the war against Voldemort.

Walking into the aisle just above Defence, Harry nearly ran straight into Theodore. He backed up quickly, but the Slytherin glared daggers at him. Harry had thought to apologize until he saw his face. His eye was blacked, and another bruise ran over the opposite cheek.

It must have shown on his face, because Theodore snarled, "Back the Hell off, prig!" He noted Harry wasn't moving and added quietly, but in a voice no less vicious, "It's none of your bloody business!"

It wasn't. Harry moved past him and paused at the end of the aisle, watching the blond grab a stool and haul a thick book off a higher shelf. After a deep breath, he joined his parents. His father immediately noticed something was wrong.

"What is it, Harry?"

He shrugged. "Mr Nott just came in with his son."

"Did he say or do anything to you?"

Harry smiled at him weakly. "Dad, we're in a public shop in Diagon Alley. He just looked at me, and it made me uncomfortable." He was pulled into a hug, his father gently stroking his hair. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. He'd been a little nervous about a lot of things since last year, but it wasn't bad. He could handle it – it just helped to be with his parents, that was all.

"Dad?" he asked softly.

"Yes?"

"Why would Mr Nott hit his son?"

James pushed him out until he could see his face. "What do you mean?"

"Theodore had a bruised face. It … he looked like he was scared of his dad. Why would he do that?"

A strong hand stroked his cheek, and James smiled sadly at him. "Some parents think their kids won't respect them without pain. It's old-fashioned, but some people in our society just are. There's really nothing we can do about it without proof. Leopold could just say it was someone else who did it, and his son would be too afraid to argue against him. There's nothing we can do."

"Is there anything I can do?"

His father blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'll be seeing him at school in some classes. Is there something I could do for him?" He wasn't going to pretend he thought the Slytherin were all scum – he never had. Trying to be exactly like his father had nearly killed him last year. He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

In the meantime, however, he was scared. He didn't know what to do. This, though, was something he could try and work from. He knew he hadn't liked Theodore Nott's face when he'd told him to back off. Doing something about it was definitely _something._

James found some ground he could answer on and sighed. "Just don't bully him. Don't push him around. Be polite, respectful, kind – there's not much you can do, except try to be his friend, but I doubt he'll take you up on it. Soon enough, he's likely to turn out like his father."

"But he _hates_ his father."

"His father is all he knows. Children often grow up like their parents – or like some adult role model, at any rate. The Notts don't have any friends, so the only adult Theodore knows really well is his father. It's a vicious cycle, and a hard one to break." James paused, a trapped look on his face before he smiled. "And there I go, giving you theory you probably don't understand at all. It's just a thought. Just be a good boy and don't pick on people – that's a good rule for everyone."

Harry smiled and ran to find Neville. While his father thought he hadn't followed it, parts of what he'd said had definitely made sense. It was something he'd had some trouble with himself last year – and now... now he knew better.

He could work with that. He could definitely work with that.

IIII

Coming home brought him a pile of books to put into his trunk, along with his clothes and other things. Looking back on last year, Harry shivered slightly. He couldn't remember what had happened after he'd walked through the fire way underground. It was hazy, and something in him didn't _want_ to remember. All he found was a weak uncertainty.

He slammed his trunk shut and pulled a book off his shelf. Tomorrow they were getting on the train to Hogwarts. He couldn't wait to talk to Ron and Hermione again.

In the morning, Nanna hung onto him for nearly five minutes before their mother coaxed her off and sent her by Floo to the Longbottoms to play with Melanie. She still pouted – after finding out she'd have to go the year after Melanie simply because she was born in November, Nanna had hated being reminded. All it took was a threat to leave her home before she threw in the Floo Powder and left. With that in order, Lily took Harry's shoulder and Apparated them both to Platform nine-and-three-quarters

They met up shortly with the Longbottoms, getting a compartment and waiting for the Weasleys to arrive. Harry and Neville sat across from each other, Neville with his head lost in his newest book: _Aurors and their Greatest Weapons_. Harry tapped his shin.

"How come you got that book and I got told it was too advanced?"

"It's OWL or NEWT stuff," Neville answered. "I know the theory of the OWL stuff – you don't. Remember? I'll go over it with you when I start practising the spells."

Harry subsided, satisfied. Neville did do better on the theory of the advanced work than he did. After five minutes, Neville flipped a few pages ahead and then went back with a grumble. Harry grinned. It looked like Neville wasn't getting it quite yet, either.

Harry would bet he'd be practising the spells next year at the latest.

The Weasleys joined them shortly before the train set off, and after a few minutes, Ron looked beseechingly at Harry. He didn't like interrupting Neville. Harry didn't care. He took the Exploding Snap deck from Ron and snapped it right in front of Neville's book.

Neville came up with a yell. "What was that for?"

"Being a bookworm," Harry answered straight-faced. "C'mon, play Exploding Snap with us."

They were looking through their hands when the compartment door was pulled open and Percy frowned down at them. "Ron, there are no free compartments. Can Ginny sit in here with you?"

Ron looked ready to object for a moment before he snapped his mouth shut and looked at Harry and Neville. They exchanged glances: Neville shrugged, Harry nodded. Ginny sat down, her gaze on the floor until Harry spoke up.

"You want to join the game?"

Flushing, she nodded.

Harry dealt her in, trying to ignore the awkwardness. Up until last year, Ginny had been an excitable chatterbox around them, but usually she ran off with Melanie and Nanna. Now, however…

Ginny squeaked when she and Harry reached for the same card and snapped her hand, causing it to explode. Harry closed his eyes and swore under his breath before scooting further over and dealing her another hand. He glared at Neville who was struggling not to laugh.

This was _not_ funny. He wasn't the one she had a crush on!

IIII

Getting off at the station, Harry led the way out and to the horseless carriages lined up by the road. Neville paused, staring, before he climbed in after Harry and sighed, leaning on the window. Harry tried to bug him to tell what was bothering him, but he wouldn't say. Harry stopped and started speculating with Ron about Ginny's house.

It was magnificent entering through the main doors – he felt himself swell with pleasure and climbed the stairs alongside Neville, walking to the Gryffindor table and finding seats near the staff table in support of Ginny. They were sitting and talking comfortably when Neville suddenly choked. Dean, seated next to him, pounded on his back.

"Hey, you okay there, mate?"

Wordlessly, his arm shaking, Neville pointed to the staff table. Harry turned to look and fell out of his seat in horror. He whimpered as he got back up, burying his face in his hands.

"Please tell me he's here temporarily."

"What's with that?" Dean asked, confused. "It's Lockhart. I hear he's really good."

"Hear!" Neville said. "You _hear_ he's good. My father spent four hours running circles around the guy the last time they had to be at the same event."

"Well, yeah." Seamus shrugged. "Your father got, what, Order of Merlin, Second Class for his war efforts? He'd run circles around most everybody." Seamus indicated Harry. "Same for _his_ father. Wasn't James Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class?"

"Yeah," Harry answered shortly as he sat back down. "It doesn't mean Lockhart's any less of a git. What is that half-knut bastard _thinking?_"

"He does _so_ know his stuff." Hermione sat down next to Neville and scowled. "Look at the books he's written! Have you even read them?"

"No!" Neville bit out. "I only read books worth my _time_. I outgrew fairytales when I was five."

"How _dare_ you –!" Hermione screeched.

"Keep your voice down, Granger!" someone yelled. Hermione went pink and scooted away from Neville. She refused to look at him through the entire Sorting. Neville returned the favour, as Harry tried not to snicker. Hermione effectively started cooing to Ginny when she joined them, cutting Neville and Harry out completely and effectively. Neither was particularly bothered.

IIII

Harry started out at breakfast with a smile, but after looking down at his timetable and finding he had Defence Against the Dark Arts that day, his happiness faded. He sighed heavily and finished breakfast, following the others out to the Greenhouses.

Professor Sprout was waiting for them by the door to Greenhouse One and snapped her fingers. "We're going to be in Greenhouse Three today, chaps. Follow me."

They trailed behind her, murmuring with interest. They'd only ever worked in Greenhouse One before – Greenhouse Three held far more interesting and dangerous plants. She led them all inside and took her place behind a bench in the middle of the greenhouse. There were about twenty pairs of different coloured earmuffs, and rows of trays with tufted, purplish-green plants. Harry frowned. He'd seen those before in his mother's greenhouse. He'd never spent much time there, though, so he didn't know what they were.

"We'll be repotting mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the mandrake?"

Hermione and Neville raced to raise their hands first. Harry was still trying to remember what he knew aside from the fact that they were dangerous. Sprout addressed Hermione.

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It is used to restore people who were transfigured or cursed to their original state." Harry thought he'd read that somewhere word for word…

"Excellent. Take ten points to Gryffindor." Said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

She chose Neville this time.

"The Mandrake has a fatal screech," he answered. "Or it does when mature."

"Precisely. The proper term, however, is 'cry'. Take another ten points to Gryffindor." she said. "The mandrakes we have here are still very young." She indicated the trays. "Everyone take a pair of earmuffs."

Harry snatched a yellow pair before Neville took them; nobody wanted the pink fluffy ones but for a few girls.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely_ covered. When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs up. Everyone – earmuffs on."

Harry snapped his into place and watched her with interest. His mother and Remus, who had the most interest in gardening, had never done anything he thought interesting enough to watch. He could hear nothing around him, but their teacher wasn't speaking.

Sprout was wearing one of the pink fluffy pairs. She rolled up her sleeves, looking very business-like, and grabbed one of the tufted plants firmly and pulled hard.

Harry gaped.

She'd pulled up the root, but it wasn't anything he'd seen before. A small, muddy, extremely ugly looking baby was squalling at what was plainly the top of his lungs. The plant was growing right out of the top of its pale green mottled head. She hauled up a large plant pot and dropped the Mandrake inside before shovelling it full of damp black earth until only the tufted top was visible. She then dusted off her hands and gave them the thumbs up before removing her own earmuffs.

"As our mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she announced as calmly as though she'd just watered the grass or something equally exciting. "They will, however, knock you out for several hours. As I'm sure none of you wish to miss the rest of your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are on properly. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

"Four to a tray – there is a large supply of pots here – compost in the sacks over there – and be careful of the venomous tentacula, its teething."

Harry snorted as she slapped aside the creeping tendril and joined Neville at a tray with a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy Harry had never properly met and the pale blonde Susan Bones, whose braid went down to her waist. She smiled faintly at Harry and set to work getting things together as Justin began to talk. Harry listened, not particularly interested – when he started praising Lockhart, Harry nearly tuned him out until he mentioned Eton.

"You're muggle-born?" Harry asked.

Justin nodded cautiously. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not in the least. My mother is one too."

They didn't get much chance to talk after that. Their earmuffs were back on, and they needed to concentrate on the mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look easy – Hell, _Neville, _the little shit, made it look easy, too. As far as Harry and their Hufflepuff companions were concerned, the mandrakes were little terrors. They didn't like coming out of the earth, and they fought going back in as well, squirming and thrashing like mad.

By the end of the class, Harry was very glad to be out of it. He was tired, sweaty, and covered in dirt as they traipsed back up the castle. At least Neville showed that effect – otherwise, he'd just handled the creatures like they weren't any trouble in the slightest. In a fit of pique, Harry hexed his shower to spray bitingly cold and then hurried to get to Transfiguration before he could get back at him.

Professor McGonagall's classes were a mess of learning, and he just wasn't catching on very quickly. They were turning beetles into buttons. Harry hadn't managed it by the time Neville started flicking every button he completed at him. He'd had to dodge about five before he managed it himself and sent his soaring back.

McGonagall scowled at him for losing his completed button, and Harry had to rush to transfigure another one for her before the end of class. Ron snickered, even though he himself hadn't succeeded yet.

The lunch bell rang and Harry had barely completed his button to turn in. He joined Ron, Neville and Hermione for lunch, Hermione with a handful of completed coat buttons: Neville had thrown all but one of his at Harry.

Ron quickly diverted attention from their quiet argument when Neville stole one of Hermione's to send at Harry's head. "What do we have this afternoon?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione answered promptly. She put away her buttons and slapped Neville's hand when he tried to steal another.

"_Why_," Ron hauled down her timetable to see, "have you outlined all of Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione tugged her timetable back and buried it in her bag. Neville made a gagging motion and leaned away from her as Harry shuddered. Hermione glared at them both furiously then stood and left to the courtyard. Harry, Neville, and Ron traded looks and followed her out in their own time.

Hermione was sitting down reading _Voyages with Vampires_ again; Harry and Ron moved to talking about Quidditch and Harry's plans to try out. As soon as the conversation moved onto that, Neville found a nook himself to read his book on Aurors. Neville wisely did not try to fly anywhere _near_ Bludgers or flying objects, or he'd have twice as many accidents as he already did.

It was several minutes later that Harry heard Neville swear.

"_What_ do you think you are doing?"

"S-sorry, I was just – You _are_ Neville Longbottom, right?"

Harry looked over and saw a small, mousey-haired boy clutching what looked like a muggle camera. He was staring intently at where Neville was seated and reading – or had been reading. Currently, he was glaring at the boy, his book shut on one hand.

"Yes?" Neville answered. By his tone, his eyes would be narrowed suspiciously.

"I'm Colin Creevey; I'm in Gryffindor, too. Your parents are famous!" he squeaked. "And your godfather is James Potter, right, he got an award too?"

Harry quickly moved to duck out of sight. He didn't want that kid aiming a camera at him.

"So?" Neville growled.

"My dad's a milkman," the boy added. "I heard if I develop the pictures right, they _move._ I want to send him a bunch, and having some of the heroes in school … I heard you were friends with Harry Potter, he fought a troll last year and beat a great three-headed dog and saved a school treasure from an evil teacher. What do you say?"

Harry bit his hand to keep from laughing nervously. Ron, beside him, was staring incredulously between him and the new student.

"Creevey," Neville said patiently, "maybe we don't _want_ to be photographed like that?"

"Oh," he said weakly. "I just thought … just maybe – it's all so new, and I wanted…"

Ron poked Harry's shoulder, and Harry cursed his sympathy for encouraging him to do what he did. Stepping out, Harry walked over and gave Neville a pinched look. Neville returned it as Colin gaped.

"Maybe?" Harry offered.

Neville shrugged. "I'm just worried about Malfoy."

Harry bit his lip. That _would_ be a problem. Harry smiled, then.

"Creevey, how about you get a photo later? We can –"

"Oh, photos, Potter? Are you trying to get in with Lockhart in selling your _photograph?"_

Harry ground his teeth and turned a hard glare on Malfoy as he came up. Neville closed his book properly and stood as well; Malfoy's eyes flickered over him before settling to glare at Harry. Neville made him nervous – Harry knew Malfoy watched the grades, and a fellow pure-blood with top grades was something he respected. Harry, however, had taken a look himself: he and Malfoy were about the same in the class ranks. Apparently that, and Harry's half-blood status, made him feel bold.

"I don't need to sell any photographs, Malfoy," Harry answered softly. "Just because you'd sooner spit on your first-years doesn't mean _everyone_ thinks they're rat-bait. Curiosity _does_ occur in some people, you know, and satisfying it isn't a problem."

Malfoy sneered. "I don't need to _pity_ people to get their attention, Potter."

"Oh, right." Neville slapped his forehead. "You're convinced your bleached out locks glow enough to do the job. Right, forgot that one." Neville tucked his book away and suddenly grabbed Harry's arm and stiffened.

Malfoy looked and grinned before speaking up again, "Oh, and were you going to _sign_ it, Potter?"

"Someone giving out signed photos?" Lockhart came up, beaming between them. "Ah, Mr Potter! How wonderful – were you thinking of a photo-op?" He spotted Colin's camera and beamed at him, scooping Harry up against his side. "Here you go, chap. Shoot away."

Harry really wished Neville had stayed nearby – he _really_ wanted to stomp his foot for leaving him there, but the shit had slipped away as soon as his warning proved too late. Naturally, Colin shot the photo as everyone around them smiled or jeered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco suddenly jump and yelp, but Lockhart was too busy reassuring Colin that he would, of course, sign the photo later on and so would Harry. Harry didn't argue. As soon as he was free of Lockhart's arm, Harry raced out of the courtyard, not caring who he elbowed aside. The bell rang a few seconds later, and students began to move to class. Harry stood in a niche near the door and tried not to attract anyone's attention. Ron was the one who found him as they came up to the class. Lockhart had gone past and inside without noticing him there.

"Neville says you need to come into class before it starts," Ron pointed out.

"Neville can go –" Harry suggested something he'd heard Neville say before. Ron went a little pink and entered the class. Harry forced himself to follow.

There was a seat next to Neville he had saved for Harry, making Ron sit next to Dean ahead of them. Harry took it and punched his friend's shoulder, mouthing,_ '__You bastard_'. Neville only smiled crookedly, leaning over to whisper,

"Every man for himself."

Harry hissed, "You get to talk the others into a year picture for Colin later, _and_ give him everyone's names. I'm sure as Hell not."

Neville nodded and turned to eye Lockhart with a look of disgust.

Class started with the man picking up his book, _Travels with Trolls_, from Parvati's desk.

"Me," he said, pointing to it and winking. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, third class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five times winner of _Witch Weekly's _Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her."

"Could've fooled me," Harry muttered. Lockhart looked around for laughter and got none. He rallied admirably.

"Well, I see you've all bought a complete set of my books. Well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about, just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in…"

He handed out the test papers, returned to the front of the class, and said, "You have thirty minutes. Start – _now_!"

Harry glanced down at it negligently and read,

1. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour? _(Harry scrawled in bluebonnet blue)

2. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition? _(He wrote, 'You have secrets?')

3. _What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date? _(He left that one blank).

It went on. Harry tired of trying to make up answers and only scrawled down the ones he had an instant sarcastic response to. The last one he thought on for a moment before answering as rudely as possible – he didn't care if it was impossible.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut – hardly any of you remember that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in _Year with a Yeti._ And a few of you need to read _Weekend with a –"_ Lockhart went silent as his face coloured. Harry grinned in triumph. He folded the paper in half and cleared his throat before continuing. "_Weekend with a werewolf_ more carefully. I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – although I certainly wouldn't say no to a bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey."

He had regained his composure more than fast enough to give them a hearty big wink. Seamus and Dean were sniggering with silent laughter; Ron was staring at him blankly. Hermione, however, was listening with rapt attention, and jumped when he mentioned her name.

"… But Miss Hermione Granger knew that my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions – good girl! In fact," he flipped her paper over, "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Two seats ahead, Hermione raised her hand shakily.

"Excellent!" Lockhart beamed. "Quite excellent! Take ten points to Gryffindor. And so, to business…"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. Harry leaned forward. Was he actually going to show them something interesting?

"Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to mankind." ("Can't he include himself?" Neville muttered), "You may find yourself facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm." He placed his hand on the cover, looking out over the class. He had everyone's attention now. "I must ask you not to scream. It may provoke them."

What could be so scary that could fit into a cage that small? Harry wondered. The cover was whipped off.

"_Yes_!" he said dramatically. "_Freshly caught Cornish pixies_."

Beside Harry, Neville made a smothered sound – he wasn't sure if he was laughing or spluttering with rage. Seamus burst into laughter. Lockhart looked at Seamus, but Neville slammed his chair back and yelled over them.

His first few words were not something Harry would repeat in front of his mother. When Neville stopped swearing, Harry could understand his fury.

"I've been hexing Doxies out of curtains since I was ten years old! You expect me to put up with you harping the dangers of _Cornish Pixies_? I could take those down riding a freaking broomstick, and let me tell you, that's an accomplishment for me! I've just about had it, having to buy your damn books, and now you expect me to feel grateful you're hauling out _pixies_?"

Lockhart scowled at him – he looked more like he was pouting – and demanded, "What is your name?"

"Neville Longbottom, you putty-faced pillock!"

Lockhart puffed out his chest. "Twenty points from Gryffindor!" he announced, then winked at Hermione. "Most sorry, dear, and you..." He glared at Neville, "...sit down. You clearly underestimate the threat presented by these devilish little blighters. Hey, hold it just one moment-"

Neville wasn't listening. He slammed his books together and stalked out of the classroom without another word. Harry wished he could join him. Looking at the pixies didn't make them any more intimidating. Electric blue, eight inches high, and buzzing around, making shrill noises, Harry had to admit doxies were definitely scarier – and even _those_ weren't 'Dark'.

Lockhart frowned around at the class and then, with a grand gesture, announced, "Let's see just how right he was, then!"

He pulled open the cage.

Harry dove under his desk instantly and hauled his books together and into his bag. In front of him, Ron was hollering and struggling to get his books in hand as blue cornish pixies took off with his inkwell. The air was full of darting blue menaces wreaking Merry Hell. Harry hesitated, and then rolled forward to shove Ron's books into his lap and grab half of Hermione's stack, shouting at her, "Run!"

They led the escape out the door, the rest of the class quickly following, ignoring Lockhart's shouts at them to stay and work. Harry wasn't having any of it.

As soon as they slowed down, halfway down the hall, Hermione snatched her books out of Harry's arms with a glare.

"What was _that_ for?"

"I didn't want to see you get your books thrown about the classroom!"

"There was no danger!"

"Oh, right," Ron huffed. "That's why Lockhart got his wand thrown out the window."

Hermione turned pink. "He's got an Order of Merlin, too!"

"Third class." Harry shrugged. "My dad's is first class, and he earned it with his own damn sweat and blood. I'd laugh if Lockhart ever broke a sweat in his work."

"They don't give those awards to just anybody!"

Someone nearby snorted. "Sirius Black's uncle got one just for giving the Ministry a lot of gold." Neville stepped out. "I was right, wasn't I? He's a total pillock."

"He's an idiotic bastard," Harry agreed. "He let the whole bloody cage of pixies loose on the class."

Neville laughed derisively again. "Merlin, Harry. Why couldn't your parents have taken the class this year?"

Harry shrugged. "Dad was thinking about it, but someone spotted Pettigrew somewhere around Bristol. He had to go check it out; otherwise, he'd been considering it. He took it six years ago – didn't feel like taking it again. And you know if Pettigrew turns up, _all_ of them go."

Neville grimaced. "Damn rat."

"Pettigrew?" Hermione asked. "I've never heard his name."

"He was a friend who turned traitor," Harry answered. "He nearly got me and my parents killed during the war."

"Pity nobody ever killed Lockhart," Neville sighed.

Hermione gaped at him. "I thought his class was fine!"

"Hermione!" Harry gasped. "There wasn't a single damn part of that class that had _anything_ to do with Defence!"

"Some of his goals are laudable –"

"Who gives a damn about his goals?" Neville spat. "I _tried_ reading his books. I almost vomited! None of that sounds _anything_ like him."

"Those pixies –"

"Pixies aren't Dark _anything_!"

Hermione pinched her lips and hurried out of sight.

IIII

That Saturday, Harry found the Quidditch team had gone for an early morning practice. Harry immediately grabbed his broom and hurried down to the locker rooms – he wanted on the team badly. He couldn't stand seeing their seeker fail yet another match, and he was also glad to avoid Colin, who had tried to get him to sign the photo he'd taken of him and Lockhart. Harry felt it best to emulate his image and duck out.

He caught the team just coming out of the locker rooms and grinned their way. Wood paused and looked him over.

"I hadn't announced tryouts."

"I couldn't help but notice you don't have a very good seeker," Harry answered boldly. "I'm confident I can do better than him."

The fifth year bristled slightly, but was also looking him over. "How do you see the Snitch with glasses?" He asked rudely.

"I keep my eyes working," Harry answered curtly.

"We'll see how well you do, then," Wood announced. "Everyone, up in the air! I'll get the Snitch out."

Harry grinned eagerly and mounted his Nimbus 2001, sweeping around the pitch with ease. He was up in the air when he glanced down and saw the Slytherin team approaching. Wood was still in the locker rooms getting the Snitch, so Harry went closer to see. Something about their smallest player made him frown – and, for the Slytherin team, a small player really stood out. They were all built along heavy lines.

Fred and George were the next to come around, landing and stalking over with vicious smiles.

"Come to get your beginning-of-the-year hexes all at once?" Fred asked cheerfully. His face hardened. "Back off. Wood booked the pitch."

"There's plenty of room for all of us," Flint sneered.

"Not really," Harry offered. He was still hovering at about Flint's height, and he gave him a warm smile. "With your big heads, you'd probably knock your own players off if they weren't full of nothing but hot-air. Instead, you just bounce around like rubber duckies in a bathtub."

One of the chasers sent a hex at him. Harry dodged it nimbly and continued to smile, locking his heels and leaning back with his hands behind his head. Wood came back out then and stormed over, his face dark with anger.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled. "I booked the pitch this morning! I booked it! Clear with Professor McGonagall!"

"Ah," Flint said. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. _I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch pitch owing to the need to train their new seeker_."

"You've got a new seeker?" Wood asked, distracted. "Where?"

The small boy at the back came forward. Harry recognized him the moment he got a clear look: it was Draco Malfoy.

Harry couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. He'd flown against Malfoy before, and while he was good, Harry knew he was better. Quickly, he stepped in.

"Funny you should mention new seekers," Harry grinned. "I'm trying out. You can't beat one seeker training with another."

"You don't have the position," Malfoy sneered.

"That's because I'm actually bothering to try out, rather than buy my way on," Harry retorted. "Don't think I didn't notice the shiny new brooms you all have. Do you think that'll make up for your lack of talent?"

The Slytherins bristled, but Wood had seized on Harry's cue like a lifeline. "I have to audition my seekers." He straightened. "You can go back and book the pitch another time. I was here first."

Harry just laughed. "Ah, Hell, Wood, how about we just see who catches the Snitch first? Malfoy versus me. And your current seeker, of course."

"That's cheating!" Flint roared. "We only have one candidate. Your _current_ seeker should be the only one allowed."

"Call it an open audition, then," another boy spoke up. Harry looked up and froze. Alan Prince walked over from the shadow of the stands, removing a broom from his pocket and unshrinking it with a tap. He came abreast of Flint and grinned. "I want to see how well I fair. I don't even expect you to make me seeker if I win." His eyes slid over to Harry, and he felt the boy's appraisal. "I just want to play this game. I know Draco's daddy-dearest won't be happy if you actually bother to care more about _talent_ than money."

Harry could tell from Malfoy's flinch that having Prince use his first name wasn't a sign of friendship. Wood was breathing hard through his nose, but he looked at Harry and his own seeker. Harry met Wood's eyes and tried to look more confident than he felt. Against Malfoy and the current Gryffindor seeker, Harry was certain he could win. But against Prince… He didn't know anything about Prince's skill. But he felt this was probably their best chance… and he had an itch to compete against Prince. Finally, Wood threw up his hands and pointed harshly at Flint.

"Swear you'll abide by how it ends! Whoever's house member catches the Snitch gets the pitch!"

Flint looked between the seekers and finally smiled tensely. "Promise." Harry felt he was gauging it by them having two fairly good flyers against only one – he didn't argue. He wasn't expecting the current seeker to catch it by anything but dumb luck, either.

"Get on your brooms, then," Wood ordered.

Harry dropped to the ground and turned around. Malfoy came up far on his right, the Gryffindor seeker on his left. Prince took the space between him and Malfoy with a smile. Harry couldn't help but look over.

The brooms were all different, save the two Nimbuses. The Gryffindor seeker rode a Cleansweep 7; Alan's looked like a scrapheap reject. If Harry remembered correctly, brooms normally did not fare well being shrunk.

Prince caught him looking and grinned at the scrappy broom he was on, patting the handle fondly. "My cousin got a little crazy and decided to craft a utilitarian broom. Pretty good – excellent acceleration, and can survive even being snapped in two. It just doesn't _look_ pretty."

Harry wanted to smile back, but didn't dare.

"Get ready!" Wood called. He was standing across from Flint, the Snitch in his hand. Harry tightened his grip on his broom. "_Go_!"

The Snitch took off in a blur of gold. Harry felt the backwind from Alan taking off; his broom was _really_ good at accelerating. However, the Snitch curved almost instantly to the left, and Harry spun to follow, his eyes tracking the bright glint of light feverishly. Behind him, Malfoy laughed; Harry spared a moment's look and found that, while Alan could accelerate fast, his broom was _not_ well compensated for _turning_.

Harry looked forward and laughed brightly, pushing his broom for more speed. The Snitch snapped upwards: Harry following instantly, Malfoy on his heels. Behind him, Prince was pressing forward and gaining fast. Harry considered his options and swerved. Malfoy swore and dodged off course. As Harry had hoped, Prince swore as well, but when he looked back, he saw why: the Snitch had darted down, and the seeker they'd left behind was now closest. Harry jackknifed in the air and dropped like a rock; it was someone on the ground that swore now, and Harry grinned brightly. He and the Marauders loved that move: his mother did not. Surprisingly, Harry found Prince within eyesight and gaining fast. His acceleration was as good as he claimed, but if he kept that up he was going to plough and plough himself hard.

Quickly, Harry decided and started to spin slowly in a loop – bringing him clean into Prince's path, but sacrificing his speed. He kept his eyes on the Snitch at all times, and soon the descent began to ease; he shot into the straightway several metres above the Gryffindor seeker and shot forward straight again. Unfortunately, controlling Prince's speed behind him meant he was now neck-to-neck with the Slytherin. Irritably, he wondered if fouls still counted, but decided against it despite hearing Wood shout otherwise. Flattening himself against his broom, Harry bought a second's more speed – and watched as Prince checked his broom's climb forward.

They were side-by-side for several very long moments. Harry glanced over: Prince was grinning at him. The Slytherin gave him a discreet wave from the handle and suddenly, his broom jerked and threw him off course – straight into Malfoy. Harry turned forward and his hand moved before his mind caught up.

The Snitch fluttered frantically inside his fingers.

Harry skidded to a stop to face the gathered Quidditch players; the Snitch held triumphantly in his fist. Gryffindor burst into ecstatic cheers. The former seeker slowed and laughed: deep belly laughs.

Off to the side, Prince and Malfoy were screaming at each other from the tangle they'd ended up in. Harry drifted by them to catch their argument before he returned.

"– Bloody piece of _shit_ broom you _dared_ bring near the pitch! You cost us the game, and you expect me to believe you could do better than me?"

"I don't expect you to believe a word I say, _Malfoy_! _And _I happen to like my P.O.S. broom, thank you! Just because you couldn't give a damn what your cousins give you doesn't mean I'm going to turn my nose up at it!"

"What, couldn't _afford_ a proper broom?"

"Oh, as if that's ever mattered –"

He was past and beyond them, then, and when he landed next to Wood, Harry offered him the Snitch with a grin. Wood looked ready to cry with joy; Flint was hollering for Malfoy to get his ass back there: they had to book a different time on the pitch. Harry glanced to the previous seeker, but he was smiling, too.

Two redheads Harry knew very well slung their arms over his shoulders.

"Harry, mate,"

"What Wood can't say right now –"

"– Is you got the spot."

Harry grinned even wider. "Are they right?"

Wood shook himself and pointed fiercely at the pitch. "Get back up in the air, Potter. I'm putting you through your paces. At the very least, you are reserve. Now get to it!"

Harry punched the air. "_Yes_!"

* * *

A/N: Well, this is almost a week late due to technical difficulties on 's part. I'm considering uploading somewhere more reliable, but no promises yet and I'll be sure to keep updating here when it lets me even if I do...

Anyways, here's the start of second year. I will return to the every-two-weeks as I am capable of.

Hope you enjoy it,  
Fire & Napalm


	6. Chapter 6

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Six: **

Over the next month, Harry was coming and going at all hours, Quidditch practise suddenly consuming a large amount of his time. It took some time to get used to it, but he knew better than to comment to Neville – he'd just get a look telling him he was crazy. Of his friends, only Ron was excited about his position, and Harry was glad to have something to spend his nervous energy on.

He still hadn't put together what was bugging him about his race against Prince. What did he care if a custom-made broom malfunctioned – right after Prince waved at him, and at just the moment they reached the Snitch?

He couldn't think why, and so he badgered the twins until they agreed to start entertaining him and hexing the Hell out of Lockhart. The distraction of watching Lockhart's reputation go down the tubes was more than enough.

He'd written his parents shortly after getting the agreement from the twins, and the Marauders had sent a package and a letter of advice and encouragement. Monday morning, two weeks into the year, the school was treated to the sight of Lockhart turning a sickly green colour – from his skin to his clothes. His hair turned grey and limp, like a dirty dishrag. Harry watched with vindictive pleasure as a horrified expression crossed Lockhart's face. He changed it into a sad looking grin, standing to give a strained bow to the Great Hall before he scuttled out of the room to escape the laughter of the student body. All of his classes that day were cancelled.

That evening, Harry went up to the twins in the common room. "Well done."

"Why thank you, Harry," Fred answered. He was wearing a shirt with an 'F' on it. Harry took that as an opening to address him as such.

"But could you make them a little shorter next time? You can catch him several times –" Harry cut off and ducked as a spell flew over his head. George scowled at him.

"Oi, if you want genius, let us take the time to make it _perfect_."

Harry saluted him and strode smartly back to where Ron, Hermione, and Neville were sitting. Hermione glared at him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Encouraging the barrage."

"He's a teacher and a respected fighter against the Dark Forces! He's an honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League –"

"Which is a joke," Neville put in. "People get Honorary membership for donating lots of money." He looked at her sidelong. "Kinda like the Order of Merlin, in some ways."

"That doesn't give you the right to prank him!"

"Hermione –" Harry started.

Ron cut him off. "He's a joke, Hermione! Why do you bother defending him? Is he just too damn _pretty_?"

Hermione slammed her books shut and stalked upstairs, hissing insults under her breath. Harry slapped Ron upside the back of his head.

"Ron, just because she's being crazy at the moment doesn't mean she's open for arguments. She's not going to listen. We need to _prove_ to her that Lockhart's a pansy," Harry said.

"Fine then, get a move on fixing his evil."

Neville piped up, "Lockhart's not quite evil, though." Harry and Ron glared at him. Neville raised his hands defensively. "Hold on, hold on. I'm just saying that Lockhart isn't evil _quality_. He's just an annoyance, a petty criminal: nothing like Mr Fear-My-Name of the seventies or Grindelwald."

Harry subsided and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Lockhart's just bloody annoying."

"But," Ron spluttered, "He's –he's manipulating Hermione! Making her head go weird! I won't stand for it!"

"And we aren't," Harry answered. "Your brothers are still working hard. I got my dad and his friends to send them a bunch of stuff. Lockhart is going to go through Hell, and we've already started it." Harry grinned at them. "Remember – Twins: one... Lockhart: zero."

And the score held.

Lockhart didn't get a single day of peace for the next month. He got changed into a canary, hung from the ceiling, turned several different colours, had his voice changed, and anything else the twins could think of. Sometimes it was three things in one day, sometimes it was just one. His classes were cancelled several times for him to cry in his office, or that was what Harry maliciously assumed he was doing.

After two weeks, Hermione glared at Lockhart where he was squeaking in the hallway as he tried to get his shoes to stop biting his toes. Her eyes were narrowed. Harry came up beside her and slung his arm around her shoulders. "What do you think?"

"Why hasn't he countered it?" Hermione asked in a low voice. "I know that counter."

"Mhmm." Harry nodded. "So do I. You gonna do it for him?"

Her eyes narrowed further. "He should know it."

"Yep. He should. And look," Harry gestured expansively, "no audience. Nobody to play up to. Nobody to blame. And yet…" He smiled as her expression darkened. Harry nudged her towards their next class and began to speak softly. "So, Hermione. How do most people get hit with the Dark Arts?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"They come at you with spells from behind and potions in drinks and so on, right? Hidden spells in items and objects and on doors and chairs and walkways." She nodded thoughtfully. "So are most of the twins' pranks. They're harmless, of course, but oh so devious. Shouldn't a Dark Arts teacher be on the look out for those things?" He could see she was thinking now. "He hasn't been so cool and collected this week, has he?"

"He hasn't," she admitted. "But why would he say he did all those things?"

Harry took his arm back and shrugged. "Look at how his books have sold."

She scowled as they took their seats in his class, waiting for him to come in. Neville and Ron were looking at Harry curiously, but he waved them silent and watched the door. Five minutes later, Lockhart came in. A bucket appeared over the door and dumped a yellow powder down his clothes. Everything it touched turned brown and began to slop off; the stench that wafted through the classroom was rank diarrhoea. Parvati and Sophie Roper at the front of the class gagged.

Lockhart shrieked and ran out.

Harry leaned back in his seat, grinning broadly. Hermione was staring at the door. Her face promised nothing good. When she looked back his way, Harry answered,

"Twins: seventeen. Lockhart: two. On grace." The man had countered two of the spells the twins had used, but not before he'd been hit. Harry gave him the points to give him some credit: he could, after all, actually use a wand.

Hermione made a face at him and packed away her books.

The next time they had his class, Lockhart actually got through the doorway. Harry suspected the hex was on his seat, but he hadn't sat down yet.

Lockhart mentioned a spell. Hermione's hand went straight into the air. Beaming, he called on her.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Who came up with the idea for the Homorphus Charm for repelling the werewolf?"

"Er, what?" Lockhart blinked, and then straightened grandly. "It was just something I knew, Miss Granger."

"Where did you learn it?"

Harry snickered behind his hand and gave the back of Hermione's head a brilliant grin. She wasn't happy with his next answer – or his next. Plainly, the questions she was asking had never occurred to him before and now, he was paying the price.

When Hermione finally gave up, Lockhart actually wiped his sleeve across his brow – and then sat down.

His robes turned into a great puce and burgundy ballgown, complete with metal hoop. Lockhart fell out of his chair with a yelp.

Lockhart couldn't attend his next class either, but Professor Snape took over instead. The man of the hour was currently hanging from the ceiling of a nearby hallway, wrapped tightly in rope and duct tape. He hadn't managed to get down yet, and nobody had bothered to help.

Professor Snape grumbled and stormed around the classroom much as he did in Potions, but his lessons were concise, to the point, and eloquent. Harry found them fascinating. Neville swatted him upside the head when he mentioned that he liked it better with Snape teaching than when Dumbledore had once taken over.

IIII

Come October, the Twins were called off by a furious Wood who demanded they spend less time plotting against the useless waste of space – Wood's words exactly – and get back in line so they would remain on the Quidditch team. With that threat in place, the pranks subsided and practises returned to focus, with all the miserable rain, the rampant cold breakout, and one furious, sick Filch. After last year, Harry made sure to clean himself the moment he stepped inside. Filch still did not like him one bit.

However, other problems arose as the month wore on, in the form of Lockhart. The man had regained his aplomb supernaturally quickly after the pranks subsided, apparently thinking – and vocalizing – that the pranksters had grown wary of his retaliation. He immediately returned to his old habits with impunity, making Harry think longingly of hexing his door and chair himself.

In classes, the man had taken to pulling students up to act out scenes from his novels. His favourite targets were Harry and Neville – at least until Neville hexed his ears off. Harry didn't know that spell, but the only thing that usually came to mind was a cutting curse and that just wouldn't go over well with Dumbledore. Harry just flat-out refused, and after a particularly close call, Hermione sniped in with a pointed question that sent Lockhart scrambling for an answer.

However, class wasn't the only place Harry ran into Lockhart; the man began to try to corner him in the halls and at Quidditch practice. After the ludicrous claim that he knew how to play Seeker, Harry flew to the twins and declared Lockhart target practise. He got himself knocked out once and chased off the pitch several times. After practice, however, Harry had to use several secret passages to get out of his way.

Sunday before Hallowe'en, Harry went out to ask Flitwick a question about his homework. Passing the library, however, Harry froze as Lockhart's voice called out,

"Harry! How good to see you! I wanted to check a little teensy fact on your last essay, you disagreed with how I handled –"

Harry didn't wait to hear more, but disappeared into the library, darting deep into the shelves. There were corners and nooks all over the place; finding someone who didn't want to be found was nigh impossible. He wandered for a few minutes, shifting his bag and wondering if he could find the answer he needed in the Charms section, before stopping at an open space in the far back.

There was a thick, round hardwood table and five mismatched chairs in disarray around it. The corner was framed on the sides by five short shelves below a bay window. The books were a motley collection of smaller paperbacks and thick leather-bound tomes. There appeared to be no one there; all the chairs looked abandoned. Harry looked at the aisles leading up to it and smiled. This was plenty out of the way. Lockhart would probably quail within the first five feet of any aisle. An idiot like that wouldn't read.

Harry dropped his bag and sank back into a chair, taking a deep breath and huffing it out loudly.

"Hey."

Harry jumped and spun to face the speaker, his wand in hand. He blinked. Alan Prince blinked back at him, two thick books in his arms. Prince raised one black eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?" The Slytherin sounded curious, not accusatory.

Harry stood up quickly. "Sorry. I didn't know you were back here."

He shrugged. "It's not like this is my corner, Potter. You can sit here just as well as you can sit anywhere."

"And this is acceptable why?"

Prince stared at him and then strode past to drop down the books in a puff of dust, fishing his bag from the far side up to the table. "We're both students here, are we not? Is there an unwritten rule about not being allowed to mingle?"

Harry relaxed into the chair again, his bag in his lap. "Gryffindor and Slytherin have been rivals for centuries."

"And there's never been any sort of inter-house tolerance? Even so far as sharing tables in the library?" The boy dropped into his chair, looking disgusted.

Thinking of his mother and Snape, Harry shrugged. "I hadn't thought you were any different."

Prince rolled his eyes and snapped open one of the books. "Figures. Of course I'm not any different." Prince glared at him over the books. "Do I _sound_ like I was indoctrinated with Hogwarts lore from the cradle, Potter? I really don't give a damn about your house rivalries."

Prince did indeed have a Hell of an accent still; if he called him 'Pottah' again, he might have to hurt him. "Where are you from?"

"Born in the middle-of-nowhere, Scotland, I think," Prince shrugged, "and raised in Salem, Massachusetts since I was one and something. When I found out I was born here, I wanted to come back and pestered my godfather and Aunt until they let me."

Harry blinked. "What happened to your parents?"

Prince shrugged and turned back to his book. "My mother died. I don't know who my father is."

"Oh."

"You born and raised here?"

"Yeah."

"Aren't the Potters old pure-blood?"

Harry shrugged, suddenly awkward. "Yeah. My dad is; my mother's a muggleborn though, and that makes me a half-blood." Prince didn't react, so Harry asked, "What about you?"

"Half-blood, I think. Safest bet, you know."

"Was your mother a witch?"

Prince shrugged, his shoulders tight. "Not a very good one." He turned and eyed Harry. "Why are you here, anyways?"

"I'm avoiding Lockhart."

"Don't bring him back here. I don't want to see that idiot any more than you do."

Harry snorted. "I think the books scared him off."

Prince smiled, and then waved expansively. "These books don't bite, you know."

"What's the section?"

"Dunno. It's in no order I recognize. I've found everything from '_Warts and Beauty Marks: The Lack of Difference'_ to some novels by Charles Dickens. I don't know when it last was organized." He blew on his book. "Or dusted."

Harry smiled faintly and crouched to begin looking. He quickly pulled two off, and then paused. "What happened with your broom, Prince?"

"Hm?"

"What happened when you were chasing the Snitch with me? Your broom didn't just malfunction, did it?"

"Of course it did," Prince answered, as though it were obvious. "I asked it to. It very conveniently happened and dropped me onto Malfoy, who I didn't want to win because he stole the position I wanted."

Harry straightened. "I didn't know you liked Quidditch."

Prince glanced up slightly and smiled, his expression cat-like. "I don't."

Harry tried to get another answer out of him, but Prince changed the subject by asking what books he'd grabbed. When he glanced down to answer, he remembered why he'd grabbed them and sat quickly to start reading, the question on his mind lost in the depths of a Transfiguration book that he suspected had an Animagi section.

If nothing else could distract him, that one thing could. He was just _waiting_ for his father to give him and Neville the books the Marauders had used and permission to start.

Besides, Prince was good company. Harry found himself constantly aware of the other boy's presence. It wasn't a safe feeling. It was just… energy. He felt alive and purring with adrenaline, ready to act at a moment's notice.

The thrill just felt _right._

IIII

Harry cursed Neville for reminding him he hadn't finished his homework. If it had been anything but Transfiguration and Potions, he'd have ignored it. He refused to leave the work for those classes undone, and so he left the Hallowe'en feast a few minutes early to avoid getting caught up with the after-feast festivities. He trotted up the stairs to the first floor and had topped the next flight when a loud voice made him stumble.

"_I smell blood… I smell blood_!"

His stomach lurched, and Harry spun around.

There was nobody nearby.

Slowly, Harry turned and began to walk down the corridor. Somewhere down here was where he'd heard it, hadn't he? Curious, Harry began to wander towards it. This may have been a main passage, but it looked rather dismal.

He spotted the shine on the walls just as he stepped into a puddle of water. Harry scowled down and then back up. Foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering – still wet.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

Harry walked closer and then backed up. Something brushed his shoulder; he turned and staggered backwards with a yell.

It was Mrs Norris. She hung stiffly from a torch bracket by her tail, her eyes wide and unseeing.

A distant rumble began in the lower levels, but Harry spun slowly to look around. The small splashes of water he made seemed half-real… What had happened?

It was the rumble of happy students as they came to the corridor he was in that snapped him back to reality nearly too late. He panicked, and seeing a door, tried the handle – he didn't care if it was a bathroom! He popped it open – and came face to face with a girl's irate ghost.

"_Get out of my bathroom_!" she shrieked.

Harry stumbled backwards and fell with a splash, the door swinging closed behind him.

The corridors on either end filled with students, and Harry couldn't think as they all came to an abrupt halt. They looked from the words on the walls to the hanging form of Mrs Norris, and Harry wished he could disappear into the floor.

Someone shouted into the quiet, "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, mudbloods!"

Harry turned to see who it was. It was Malfoy; the boy's face was shining, flushed with joy as he grinned at the sight of the hanging cat. Harry was seriously considering hexing the Slytherin when an even worse voice came.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Filch cried. Attracted as ever by noise and student discord, he came shouldering through the crowd until he saw his cat. He fell back in horror, clutching his face with a cry. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?"

Filch's frantic gaze fell on Harry, where he was finally standing again, still in the space between the students in the corridor.

"_You_!" Filch screeched. "_You_! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll –"

"_Argus_!"

Harry felt his heart give a stutter of hope. Dumbledore had come up to the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. He swept past Harry to detach Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus. You too, Mr Potter."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free –"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said.

The crowd parted to let them pass, students staring in silence. Harry felt very small and conspicuous, walking before McGonagall and Snape just behind Lockhart.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls. Harry saw a number of photos of Lockhart all around them, the portraits darting out of sight with what looked like rollers in their hair. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stepped back to give Dumbledore room to lay Mrs Norris on the table and examine her. Harry stood nervously, his pants and robe still dripping wet from his fall in the corridor.

Dumbledore placed his nose barely an inch from Mrs Norris' fur, looking intensely through his half-moon spectacles, gently prodding and poking the cat with his long fingers. McGonagall also bent close to stare. Snape was leaning back against the wall, looking like he was trying not to smile – but his eyes didn't look particularly pleased either.

Lockhart was naturally hovering and talking rapidly, even though nobody at all looked like they were listening.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her – probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used many times; so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her…"

His words were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, his face in his hands. Harry felt a twinge of pity – nobody deserved to lose their pet, even someone as unpleasant as Filch.

Although if Lockhart didn't stop talking soon, Harry was _definitely_ going to look up that Torture he was going on about and use it on _him_.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs Norris with his wand. Nothing happened, however: Mrs Norris remained as stiff as a board, not even her whiskers moving.

"… I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou," Lockhart continued. "A series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets which cleared the matter up at once…" The photographs of Lockhart were also nodding in agreement, one of them having forgotten to remove his hairnet.

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus."

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented. Harry was grateful: he'd been starting to count the ways he could shut the man up. None of them had been pleasant; a few had even been illegal, but he'd been sure he could find a way around that…

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking out at his cat through his fingers. "But why's she all – all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been petrified." (Lockhart made a triumphant sound). "But how, I cannot say…"

"Ask _him_!"Filch pointed sharply at Harry. Harry looked away from Lockhart to stare, wide-eyed, at the accusing finger and the other teachers.

"No second-year, no matter how precocious, could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced…"

"He did it! He did it!" Filch spat. "He's a terrible boy, out at all hours – he vandalized my office, keeps dripping all over the castle and then magicking it up when I turn my back; a terrible, spoiled little brat!"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Harry shot back. "I've never touched Mrs Norris!" He felt uncomfortably aware of Dumbledore's attention: he _had_ vandalized Filch's office last year, it was true, and after Wood's practises he was _always_ dripping wet. Harry squirmed. "I have Quidditch, sir, and it's pouring rain. I clean up after, but how am I supposed to get out of the rain first without coming in?"

Professor Snape abruptly stepped in. "If I might speak, Headmaster, perhaps we simply have a case of the wrong place at the wrong time. After all, with his mother who she is, I hardly think Potter would be the culprit here."

Harry felt a bright sense of relief at those words. Of course. The only house with the 'Heir' business was Slytherin – the 'enemies' would be just what Malfoy said: mudbloods, one of whom Harry was best friends with, the other being his mother.

"However," Harry looked at Snape, confused, "there is the question of what he was doing up here so soon after all, when there was a feast to be had."

Harry smiled. "I had homework I haven't done, sir. I wanted to get a start on it. I was done eating, sir." Professor Snape could hardly argue with _that, _and Harry was hardly going to mention that strange voice. Hell, he could even produce the passage.

"And what homework could pull a student from the likes of the Hallowe'en feast?"

Okay, apparently he could question it. Harry glared at him. "The two hardest classes, of course," Harry said. "Transfiguration," he nodded to McGonagall, "and Potions." Harry smiled sweetly. "Unlike some students, I don't like handing in substandard work, and I'd be surprised if you'd ever advocate it."

"He has you there," Professor McGonagall looked hard-pressed not to grin.

"But what about my _cat?"_ Filch wailed. "My cat has been petrified! I want to see some _punishment!"_

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore explained. "Madam Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative draught in my sleep –"

"Excuse me," Snape drawled, "but I believe I am the Potions Master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause. Harry couldn't help but grin, and he thought Severus might have grinned back if he wasn't busy intimidating Lockhart.

Dumbledore smoothed his face into impassivity and nodded his way. "You may go, Mr Potter." A flick of his wand had him completely dry again.

Harry went, walking slowly through the halls as he thought.

The Chamber of Secrets: that was something he'd never heard of. He needed to write his mother about that one. And enemies of the Heir? The Heir of Slytherin, he would suppose, but who would be mad-brained enough to claim that?

And it – or him or her – had petrified Mrs Norris. What could do that? Dark Magic, clearly, but wasn't there something he'd read about – some animal? He'd always liked those books, there were gorgons, of course, but they'd never get into the school…

Harry scuffed a foot on the floor and looked out the dark window.

And what about that voice he'd heard, then?

IIII

"Wait, what happened?" Neville asked again.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I _told_ you. Dumbledore said she was petrified."

"Petrified?" Neville began to flip through a book, Hermione at his side. Ron was looking a bit put-out, as he always did when they pulled out so many books. They were all focused on what could have been done to Mrs Norris.

"Yes. Dumbledore did a long examination, as far as I can tell, and came to that conclusion. I don't know what did it, he never said. He did say it would take advanced Dark Arts to do it."

"Hmm." Neville frowned at the book and paused, running his finger down the passage before swearing softly. "I'd have to steal a book from Sirius' library, then. That'll be a job and a half. This doesn't say anything. What else could do it?"

Harry shrugged. "Gorgon. Maybe a few more obscure creatures – I read somewhere that one of the deadly creatures petrifies indirectly, although how or what escapes me right now."

Neville slammed the book shut and handed it to Hermione. "But why Mrs Norris?"

"It's in the school." Harry shrugged. "If the Heir is a student, how likely is it that they hate Mrs Norris?"

Neville grinned. "A lot."

"But why would they say 'Enemies of the Heir, Beware'?" Hermione asked. "How would that be a warning?"

"It could be anything," Harry said. "The Heir is likely the Heir of Slytherin – that's all I can remember about the Chamber of Secrets, is that it's Slytherin. Salazar purportedly hated muggle-borns, so everyone down the line has taken up the banner – or most everyone," Harry added, remembering Prince and Snape.

"It's all of them," Ron spat. "They're all untrustworthy bastards."

Harry didn't bother arguing; Neville became very interested in the fireplace. Hermione frowned, flipping through the book Neville had handed her.

"Why now, though?"

Harry leaned back, silent. He didn't know. He didn't think anyone _could_ know. Looking at Neville, he saw the same reaction: nothing.

Ron spoke up weakly. "Dumbledore will take care of it."

Hermione nodded, suddenly looking brighter. "He will. He's the greatest Headmaster the school has had for a long time. He'll have it in hand very soon."

Harry fought not to respond. He couldn't help remembering last year and that summer. The time he'd spent, playing with magic with no argument, and the time his parents had spent watching him with drawn faces. Neville, also, had been watching him. He didn't want to think what that meant.

Harry just hoped Dumbledore would do better taking care of this than he did last year.

IIII

In the morning, all the talk at the tables was about Mrs Norris. An announcement about the immediate investigation was made at breakfast, and talk had spread faster than the 'flu since last night. All the houses were abuzz, many students looking concerned – except at the Slytherin table.

Ron looked disgusted. "Look at that. None of the Slytherins look at all surprised, much less worried. I'll bet it was one of them who pulled it off. It's Slytherin's heir, after all."

Harry looked up and found Zabini and Malfoy, seated far apart and looking mostly unconcerned. Zabini, however, kept looking at the door. Harry looked up and down the table and found why: Prince was missing.

A crazy idea seized him, and Harry stood, finished his drink and smiled at Neville before leaving abruptly. Neville would tell the others to leave him alone; his friend knew him well enough to know when an idea had seized him, and Harry liked to pursue them alone if he didn't invite Neville along. Harry got out of the Great Hall and quickly made his way to the library, wending his way towards the back.

It took him three tries to find the corner he hadn't visited since, and as he'd guessed, Prince was there. To be precise, he was leaning heavily on the table – he looked dog-tired, but was stubbornly trailing his finger along a paragraph. Several dusty tomes were stacked around him: one buckled and locked shut. Harry guessed he'd gotten some out of the Restricted Section – he must be in good with Snape to get permission for that.

"Hey, Prince."

The Slytherin startled and stared up at him, wide-eyed. "Potter," he stated. "What are you doing here?" He looked out the window and blinked rapidly. "Merlin, Mary, and Mordred, it's morning already."

"What, were you here all night?"

"Yeah." He yawned. "I wanted to research something – a potion I still haven't mastered. It's bugging me." Harry raised his eyebrow. "Draught of Peace. My cousin did something to it to make it give vivid, somewhat prophetic, dreams, and I haven't figured out how he did it yet."

Harry didn't understand what he meant in the least and shook it off. "I've got a question for you: do you know anything about what happened to Mrs Norris?"

"Mrs Norris?" Prince asked. "Filch's cat? What happened to her?"

"You haven't heard? Everyone's talking about it!"

Prince stared at him blearily. "Potter, I've been here since halfway through the feast yesterday. Only way I could ditch Zabini, dammit all. I don't have a clue what the school's buzzing about."

"She was petrified last night, just after the feast, and hung on a torch bracket on the second floor. Then someone wrote on the wall 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.'"

Alan went milk-white. He sat up straight, slammed the book he'd been reading shut and slid it into his bag. He stood up, stacking and sorting the books left out. "Merlin, Mary, and Mordred, Potter, I need to talk to Severus about this. I'll see you around; thanks." He looked at the stack of three books, considering, and then doffed the thickest, tucking the others in his armpit.

Harry watched him go, thinking. What had panicked him so? He was in a right state, leaving like that.

But why?

IIII

As far as Harry was concerned, the hubbub about the attack was more than it warranted. Filch was miserable at the loss of Mrs Norris, and he took it out on the students whenever he left his vigil by the scene of the crime.

Harry and his friends were all very interested, but interestingly enough, it was Neville who offered the cautions to Hermione, rather than Hermione reminding them all of the rules. She even managed to startle Professor Binns out of his stupor, asking about the Chamber of Secrets. He related the legend, and then got furious at the influx of speculative questions and cut them off. The next morning, Harry received a letter from his mother about the Chamber; she related a story much the same.

Harry found it interesting that Slytherin had disliked muggle-borns because he didn't trust them. Ron and Hermione could complain about him being unreasonable and crazy all they liked, but Harry could understand why. In a time when muggles feared and hated witches and wizards, he'd be cautious too about bringing their children to such a central location.

He would admit that Slytherin took it too far, but the Founder's sentiment, his original sentiment, was quite right.

As the days passed the bustle died down and Quidditch began to take over. Harry began to feel his nerves again. It would be his first team match, his first game against players older and more experienced than him and playing for keeps. He'd have been worried about playing on the same broom as Malfoy, except for the fact that he'd flown next to the boy before at Ministry events. Admittedly, Malfoy was better than Neville – something that only required staying _on –_ and was possibly better than Ron, but he wasn't better than Harry. He didn't have Harry's natural talent. Harry intended to make full use of that.

The school began to empty at around eleven o'clock, and as Harry led the way out behind the Gryffindor team, he passed Prince. The boy had stood when he did to wander to the door, and he looked up, grinning, and murmured, "Good luck."

He straightened immediately and caught up to Zabini and Greengrass. Harry watched him go, curious. He hadn't thought Prince would care. After all, hadn't he said he didn't care for Quidditch?

Harry sat through Wood's impassioned speech, his legs twitching and his hands eager to be on his broom. He didn't care if Slytherin were all mounted on the newest brooms – he could certainly match them any day – he had the same broom, and a Hell of a lot more talent. Gryffindor, unlike Slytherin, actually chose players for talent, anyways. He tuned out the demands and fervour – he didn't really care about _winning._ He cared about _flying._

Not that he'd dare tell Wood that.

The day outside was muggy, with a hint of thunder in the air. The teams met up in the middle of the pitch, Flint and Wood staring each other down and trying to wring their hands apart. Harry caught Malfoy's eye across the pitch. Malfoy was in for a world of hurt if he thought money would save him on the pitch.

The whistle to start was never more welcome, and Harry was hyped enough that he took off vertically, shooting into the air and levelling out well above the pitch. Malfoy came up below him, breezing past and sneering,

"All right there, Potter?"

"Never been better!" Harry yelled back, shooting straight towards him.

Malfoy scrambled out of his way and looked frantically in the direction Harry had shot, thinking he'd seen the Snitch. Harry merely slowed down to loop around above, enjoying the flying for what it was and watching and listening to the game below. He looked down in time to see Alicia score the first goal of the game and hear Lee Jordan cheer into the mike, screaming, "And it's Gryffindor's goal first! Ten – zero, Gryffindor!"

Harry dodged a chance Bludger and rolled to get out of its way on its trip back down, scanning the pitch for the Snitch. He found nothing, but saw that Malfoy was watching him more than looking for the Snitch himself. Curious, Harry grinned and scanned the pitch again quite obviously and then focused suddenly on a point next to one of the stands. Pressing forward, Harry shot towards it, vindictively thinking, '_Let's see how fast you _stop_ that broom_,_ Malfoy_.'

As he'd expected, Malfoy was no more than seconds behind him, and he pushed his own broom for less than it was worth, letting Malfoy catch up, which he did with glee. They were flying straight at the stand, and Harry almost thought he himself saw a glint nearby, but a second look proved it to be nothing more than a watch. He grew ever closer, and then firmly pulled off just in time to see Malfoy do a much less refined move to stop himself. A dull thump proved he'd marginally kept himself from harm.

Harry called, "Fast broom there, Malfoy. Good to see you know how to use the _brakes_!" He pulled up, away from the action of the main pitch. It had started to rain and heavy drops fell onto his face, missing his glasses completely – his mother had permanently Imperturbed them years ago.

He scanned the pitch, watching the teams play. Lee Jordan hollered in outrage as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle to Flint and they made a goal, making the score twenty to forty to Slytherin. Harry smiled grimly. He needed to catch the Snitch, or Slytherin might very well win.

He scanned again, but finding a glimmer of gold in pouring rain was a trying prospect. The least he could be sure of was that Malfoy would have the same kind of trouble he would –

"_Potter_! _Get on that Snitch_!" Wood screamed.

Harry spun, and found to his horror that Malfoy was diving straight down on the Snitch. He dropped his broom – nearly cancelled the flight in his haste – and sped straight down on top of him. He brushed past Fred as he slammed a Bludger away and then straightened out a dozen feet off the turf, heading to intersect Malfoy unless the Snitch changed direction.

It did – straight at him. Malfoy's eyes widened, but Harry didn't pause, didn't hesitate: he kept going straight, his eyes locked on the fast approaching golden ball.

He saw Malfoy suddenly jerk up and away – saw the wet little ball flying for his head – he swiped at it – missed – swore –

and nearly choked.

Pulling to a sharp halt, Harry coughed the Snitch into his hand and gagged, trying not to vomit. He quickly put his hand up, the Snitch's wings beating against his fingers. Wood screamed again, absolutely ecstatic that they'd won. Harry was engulfed in a hug, to shouts of, "I _knew_ you could do it, knew it! Awesome flying, absolutely fearless!"

Harry laughed and brushed them off, happy to have won. However, he did beg out of the immediate celebrations by asking for a moment's breather in the locker rooms after the team had changed. He was still getting over the feeling of the Snitch flying into his mouth and wanted to breathe through it alone.

It meant he went back into the castle with no crowds, through passages already abandoned by the students.

"– it was humiliating to you, flinching from him – he'd have given up in moments if you'd toughed it out. That you first got slammed into the stands by that overeager boy and then only saw the Snitch when it blasted past your nose is a disgrace."

Harry knew the voice: Lucius Malfoy was a hard man to forget.

"It's hardly my fault you lost your position," he continued. "I'm sorry to say it, but I'm ashamed of you. You know how to fly better than that overeager Gryffindor puppy."

"It's Prince's fault," Draco grumbled. "He's always against me; sabotaging me. He's supposed to be some Slytherin, but he never acts like it. _He_ put Severus up to this –"

A slap echoed up the corridor. Harry bit his knuckle to keep from crying out.

"You _never_ blame another for your own failure! If that boy has ousted you from favour, you work to correct it! You lost your position on the team by your own actions, and you can forfeit your broom to him as well. Severus wasn't about to let someone who would lose the cup for Slytherin play, and you just proved you're worthless. Spend the time working on your homework, for Merlin's sake. If I hear you whine again about losing to that mudblood, there will be Hell to pay."

Harry slipped silently away, trotting up the stairs to the dorms, thinking hard. Malfoy had lost his position as Seeker, then? He could guess who would make the team in his absence. But Malfoy hadn't done _badly_ as Seeker – he'd been paying enough attention to tail the Snitch when it came down next to him on the pitch while Harry had been elsewhere. It had all come down to who wanted it more. Apparently, Mr Malfoy was convinced his son should have taken any risk necessary. Harry didn't blame Malfoy for giving in. He'd managed to scare his own father, playing chicken like that.

But the slap he'd heard sat bitterly at the back of his mind. Twice now, he's seen that happen: once with Theodore Nott at the bookstore and now again with Draco Malfoy. It was archaic for parents to hit their children and wives, but a lot of pure-bloods – a lot of the old-fashioned ones, anyways – still did so. Sirius admitted to being beaten for misbehaviour by his family. Harry and Neville had never had anything worse than a spanking or a mild hexing – never anything painful.

Even Malfoy didn't deserve to be hit.

IIII

The next morning, however, Harry had something else to think on. He, Neville, Ron, and Hermione were going to breakfast, which took them past the staffroom. Flitwick was standing outside the door as McGonagall held it open, talking.

"– last night, Dumbledore found him on his way to the kitchens. Stiff as a board, his camera in hand."

"Colin Creevey? Oh dear. It – it can't be open again, can it?"

"Dumbledore believes so. However, he is more interested in asking 'how', and no, I don't know why."

They couldn't stop to listen more – Harry doubted the teachers would appreciate them asking more questions. They shared glances amongst themselves, and all of them could agree: this wasn't good. Sitting down to breakfast, Ron had an immediate suspect.

"It sounds like Colin went the same way as Mrs Norris. If you want my opinion, it's Malfoy who's causing all this. 'You'll be next, mudbloods!'"

Neville lay down his fork a moment and then returned to his meal without saying anything. Harry noted it: it meant he didn't think saying anything would help. Harry doubted it himself.

"But how can we prove it?" Hermione asked. "We'd have to find some way to ask him the question, wouldn't we?"

"Why don't I just ask a Slytherin?" Harry offered, mildly sarcastic. "After all, my mother is only friends with the Head of Slytherin House."

"Snape can't keep an eye on all his students!" Ron argued.

Harry felt Ron might be surprised at how well Severus could keep track of his students, but Ron wouldn't believe him. And besides, he didn't intend to ask Severus, anyways. He meant to ask Prince, who was in Malfoy's classes.

"Didn't they say it was open again?" Ron asked eagerly. "I'll bet Malfoy's dad opened it when he was at school and then passed on the key to Draco! And after losing the match," he gestured viciously with his fork, "took it out on whoever he could catch."

Harry sighed, leaning on his arm. "Yeah, Colin was probably thinking about midnight pictures of the castle or something. But Ron, I think my parents would have told me if something like that had happened while they were at school. Malfoy Sr was fifth-year when they went in."

"Oh."

"But I'll send the letter anyways. Better to ask." Yeah, right. Snape would skin him alive.

"Why not ask him yourself?" Hermione asked.

"Because Severus hates me."

"Why?"

He looked at her. "Hermione, I'm more like my father than my mother." Well, that was how he'd acted. He looked back at his meal, his appetite gone. "Severus hates my father, but he's still friends with my mother."

"How does that work?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I've said this before. She doesn't sit them down to dinner together. Ever."

Ron pouted. "I still like my Malfoy idea."

Harry scowled. "Malfoy's dad is angry with him right now, anyways, so I doubt he'd be inclined to hand over the key. I heard him getting a right dressing down after the match yesterday. He's off the team."

"He's _what_?" Ron yelped. "Why?"

"He lost." Harry shrugged. "I think Prince put Snape up to it. He's my guess for Malfoy's replacement."

Neville swallowed. "Well, it does sorta put more veracity on Ron's idea, but still… that's just something I suppose you'll have to check out. Send the letter, definitely. C'mon, let's go check out the lake. I hear if you throw stuff at the Giant Squid it responds. I wanna check it out; we never found time last year…"

Harry followed, smiling but antsy. He wanted to go see Prince in the library to ask his question, but he couldn't find any good excuse to get away from Neville, Ron, and Hermione. Between them and his homework, he didn't get any free time.

Come Monday the news about Colin was everywhere and the first years were all terrified. Ginny was completely distraught and joined them at breakfast Monday morning and tucked close by them. The bad thing about this was that she had taken to clinging not to her brother, Ron, but to Harry. It was extremely uncomfortable. Neville's pointed effort to not laugh wasn't helping matters any, although Ron looked both mildly relieved and extremely put out.

Beneath all of this began a rampant trade in protective talismans. Percy was heard ranting and raving at several students peddling them, and while he had a good head of steam going, Neville nicked a purple pointed gem from his confiscated items. Harry gave him a queer look, and Neville merely grinned and pocketed it. Harry rubbed his temples and sighed. Neville was just weird.

* * *

A/N: And here's another chapter, late due to laziness. Yes, I know, I'm a horrible person. Enjoy?

Fire & Napalm


	7. Chapter 7

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Seven:**

Near the end of the week, Harry finally got some time to himself and slipped into the library. If he had to hear another grumble about Malfoy being at fault, he was going to throttle the person in question – even if it was Ron. He wound his way through the aisles and stumbled over Prince halfway there, curled around a book at the bottom of the shelves. Harry stopped and glanced curiously at the books around him. They were all about different magical beasts. Harry crouched next to him to read the title of the book he was holding. Prince obligingly moved his arm from the title without looking up: _Deadly Beastes of Yore_.

The Slytherin frowned at the page, made a soft hissing sound that Harry caught only part of – it sounded extremely rude – and shut the book hard, then asked, "What do you want?"

Harry smiled faintly. "Is Malfoy the one attacking the school?"

"It would be _over_ if he was," Prince growled. "Besides, it's either some creepy-crawly, or extremely dangerous Dark Magic. I wrote home to ask about it, but," he snarled unintelligibly before calming, "it will be at least a month before I have a response."

"Come up with any creature possibilities?" Harry asked idly.

"No."

"What about a basilisk?" Harry asked softly. That was the one he hadn't remembered.

"Basilisks kill on sight," Prince grumbled.

"If you see it indirectly, they only petrify."

"Mrs Norris?" Prince asked carefully, flipping through the book again. "Creevey had his camera, but her…"

"The floor was soaked. She may have only seen its reflection."

Prince nodded thoughtfully before pinning him with a frown as he stood. "What made you think of basilisks, anyways? Not many people know the indirect thing."

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "I've always liked creatures, especially snakes. Years ago I wished I could have had a pet snake until my father…" Harry cut himself off and moved to stand up, his face cold.

Prince stopped walking back towards the far corner and looked back, curious. "What about your dad?"

"None of your business, Prince." Harry glared.

Prince held his gaze for several long moments before smirking bitterly. "You need to keep your face less tense if you want to intimidate someone. You don't want to look like you're actually _trying_."

Harry blinked, taken off-guard. "What?"

Prince grinned. "Your face. You couldn't keep someone out of your business with a look like that; you might as well put a red light on it saying 'sore spot'."

Harry growled. "If you're going to pick at me, I think I'll just leave. Thanks for the answer all the same." Harry paused as he shouldered his bag, looking back suspiciously. "You're _sure_ it's not Malfoy?"

Prince rolled his eyes. "Positive. The little shit is accounted for, Potter. Snape keeps a close eye on all of us."

Harry nodded curtly and moved out of the library at a brisk walk. He wanted to leave behind Prince's stupid advice about his glare. He didn't need anyone's critique on that. Only Slytherins worried about a 'proper' glare. And Harry was_ not_ Slytherin.

IIII

The week before holidays, a flyer about a Duelling Club went up on the notice board in the Entrance Hall. It was attended by general consensus – even though Duelling was an outmoded sport, it was still a fascinating skill and display. Harry, Neville, Ron, and Hermione all were present in the Great Hall that evening to see how it played out.

Neville took one look at the golden stage and groaned. "Oh no, not him. Anyone but him. I thought it'd be Flitwick or someone – _any_one else."

Harry elbowed him. Neville pouted at him, but stopped after Harry continued to glare. Harry turned back to the front. Lockhart had to at least follow the rules, which was part of what Harry was interested in learning – it's not like he was expecting to learn anything _else_ from the man.

"Just enjoy watching him make a fool of himself, Neville," Harry scolded.

Neville nodded cautiously; he was staring at him oddly.

Lockhart pranced onto the stage in robes of deep plum. Harry faked gagging at the same time as Neville. Hermione huffed, but didn't tell them to stop. She still hoped the man could bring himself some credit, and Harry wasn't going to ruin a good thing by bugging her about it.

"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me?"

"Unfortunately," Ron muttered.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves, as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape." Lockhart announced with a smile.

Neville spoke over him. "I'd be running away if Snape directed that look my way. Is Lockhart mad?"

"Absolutely barmy!" Ron insisted.

"Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry; you'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him, never fear!" Lockhart finished.

"I'm more terrified of your robes," Harry deadpanned.

Ron sighed. "Wouldn't it be great if they finished each other off?"

Harry caught a dirty look coming their way; when he looked, he caught Prince's eyes. Prince jerked his head up in challenge and flicked his eyes aggressively in Ron's direction. Harry shrugged and turned back to the stage; as a Slytherin, Prince obviously liked Snape, but it wasn't like it was news that everyone else hated the man. Still, Prince was annoyed. There was nothing Harry could do about that.

Lockhart and Snape faced each other and bowed, Lockhart with excessive flourishes and Snape almost didn't dip deep enough to count. Their wands were raised like swords, and they faced each other at either end of the stage.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

Neville sighed. Harry elbowed him to look up towards Snape: he didn't look happy with the addendum either.

"One – Two – Three –"

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Scarlet light flashed from Snape's wand, and Lockhart went tail over teakettle off the stage. Neville, in a fit of precocity, stepped forward and raised his hands as he clapped loudly, grinning at Professor Snape. Several other students joined in, and Snape looked at Neville with a mixture of confusion and amusement. Hermione, however, had her eyes on Lockhart in concern, watching him unsteadily regain his feet.

"Well, there you have it!" the blond idiot announced, tottering back to the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm. As you see, I've lost my wand – thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, excellent to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do." He swept his hair back into order and grinned. "If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive for them to see…."

Hermione looked as disgusted as Professor Snape did, and Harry was surprised Lockhart finally caught on and redirected the class. "Enough demonstrating! We're going to split into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me…."

The crowd began to split on its own, but the teachers directed them into new pairings. Neville was put with Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Snape reached Ron and Harry first. Ron was placed against Seamus, Harry was directed to Malfoy, and Hermione to Millicent Bullstrode, a big, thickset girl who resembled a hag. Harry couldn't help but notice that Zabini and Prince were paired together, which he felt was unfair – although Prince didn't look exactly thrilled with it himself.

"Face your partners and bow!" Lockhart directed from the platform. Harry jerked his head in kind to Malfoy's own. "Wands at the ready; when I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent – _only_ to disarm them, we don't want any accidents. One…Two…Three!"

Harry dodged as Malfoy cast on two – it sounded like he hit Millicent instead – and then returned with a firm _Expelliarmus_! himself. Malfoy dodged, and a second spell came off his wand – _Tarantallegra_! Harry slipped aside again, casting the Tickling Charm that found its mark. He followed up with a quiet Silencing Charm, cutting off Malfoy's laughter and any further spells – he hoped.

Lockhart screamed for them to halt, but Snape managed much better with a general call of _Finite incantatem_! Malfoy straightened to glare furiously at Harry, but Harry ignored him to glance around through the green haze drifting over everyone's heads. Neville was smiling as he helped Justin off the floor; Seamus and Ron were both apologizing to each other, red-faced. Bullstrode, however, had Hermione in a headlock, and Harry quickly moved to pry them apart. When Neville approached, she let go and sneered, stalking off. Lockhart scuttled around the Hall, offering useless advice and worrying until he finally announced,

"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells."

Neville muttered something that would get his mouth washed out. With a glance at the furious Snape, Lockhart pointed randomly – and hit Harry and Malfoy. "You two, come up here and show everyone, would you? So nice of you."

Harry glared at Malfoy, but they both went to the middle of the hall, everyone's eyes on them. Lockhart came up behind Harry, and Harry edged away from him. "Now, Harry," he began.

"I know the basic shield spell, Lockhart," Harry growled. Lockhart didn't seem to hear and continued. He again moved closer than Harry was comfortable with.

"When Malfoy points his wand at you, you do _this_."

Lockhart raised his wand and attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action – and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart picked it up, and Harry took a deliberate step away.

"Oops, my wand is a little over excited," Lockhart muttered and straightened. When he saw Harry a full foot away from him, he gave him a strange look.

Harry was sick of this. "I know how to do a Shield Charm, Lockhart. Please, step back."

Something in his face must have gotten the point across. Lockhart backed up to the wall and gestured grandly towards Malfoy, where the Slytherin met his stare with a smirk, and Snape drifted away himself. Harry reminded himself of the proper Shield Charm and Malfoy's grin abated slightly.

"Scared?" Malfoy muttered.

Harry smirked back. He didn't answer.

"Just do what I did, Harry!" Lockhart called.

Harry didn't bother to keep his voice down. "What, drop my wand?"

Lockhart wasn't listening, even though a number of students had started to laugh.

"Three – Two – One – Go!"

Malfoy raised his wand and bellowed, "_Serpensortia_!"

Harry stared in shock as a long, black snake burst from the end of Malfoy's wand, landing in a coil between them. Harry swore and braced himself.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape drawled. "I'll get rid of it."

"Allow me," Lockhart shouted.

Harry didn't put his thoughts into action in time; he knew without a shadow of a doubt the man would only make it worse, but there had been an upsurge of noise since the snake appeared, distracting him. Lockhart brandished his wand and there was a loud bang. The snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet in the air and fell back down with a painful smack. Furious, it turned and slithered towards the edge of the stage and the nearest student, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and prepared to strike.

Harry stepped forward and snarled, "Don't even think it!"

The snake paused and swept his way, its head raised. Harry scowled. "Stop that."

It subsided, watching him curiously. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the voices abated. Turning to Justin, something cold dropped into his stomach: Justin was staring at him, terrified and furious.

"What do you think you're playing at?"

Harry watched his year-mate run from the room, and as suddenly as he had acted, Harry realized that the room was dead silent, had been dead silent but for shocked gasps. The furious, irritated voice he'd been so confused about hadn't been any of the students at all.

Harry took one look at the snake that was still watching him, and then stared up at Severus Snape. His teacher's black eyes were staring at him even as he calmly vanished the snake, his gaze sharp and weighing.

Someone touched his arm, and Harry spun around so fast he staggered. Neville was staring at him, and he couldn't take it any more. Pushing past his friend, Harry ran straight out of the Great Hall.

He didn't stop running until he had mounted several floors and disappeared amongst the library shelves. He wandered without a goal and finally found the table he'd met Prince several times now. Sinking into a chair, he buried his head in his arms and fought not to cry. The only thing he wanted at that moment was to rescind his request to go home and hide until the whole bloody mess had blown over. His father was going to be _furious_.

He'd never thought anything specific about the fact that he liked snakes. It had always been just academic – at the manor, there had never been any snakes to speak to. But apparently, there was just far more to him than he'd even imagined, and he was a _Parselmouth_. Furious, Harry slammed his fists onto the table and sat up, biting his lip. He didn't want this. And to find out in front of the whole damn school! There were going to be rumours and talk and bustle, and they were going to stare at him. He didn't need this on top of all the attacks –

Harry froze and said something vile enough his mother would have cursed him silent.

_Serpent-tongue_.Slytherin.

Harry was going to be labelled immediately as the one behind the attacks, and he couldn't very well argue. Harry swore a few more times, and then simply laid his head back down, chasing his thoughts in furious circles and getting absolutely nowhere.

It was several minutes before Harry heard someone place a book on the table before him. Harry looked up to glare and found himself staring at Alan Prince.

"What are you doing here?" Harry snapped.

"I believe I found my way back here long before you ever did, so I'd thank you to not act like you own the place," Prince returned blithely. He stared at Harry with his typical, relaxed expression. Harry suddenly realized he'd been crying and looked away, wiping his face on his sleeve and forcing himself back into composure. Once he felt more steady, he looked sidelong at Prince and snapped,

"You're not going to start thinking I'm the Heir of Slytherin or something, are you?"

Prince flinched minutely before he answered. "Why would I think something so hare-brained as that? You're only a Parselmouth. Slytherin wasn't the only Parselmouth to exist; Hell, Thomas Edison was one." Harry looked down. Prince continued in a softer tone of voice. "I'd heard Parseltongue was a gift that, although it did follow a line, could also show up by chance in another. It had to start somewhere, you know."

Harry looked at him, irritated. "I've never heard that before. Who told you that?"

Prince hesitated before he answered, "My aunt told me, when I found out I had the talent myself. Listen closely, Potter – you'll hear it."

As soon as he said 'Listen' Harry heard the difference – Prince was hissing, but it didn't matter – whatever magic it was, it sounded clear in his mind as words, words without Prince's distinctive accent. He could only stare. He knew he had to look absolutely gobsmacked, and he didn't care in the least.

"You're a Parselmouth, too?" Harry heard himself hiss and slapped his hand over his mouth.

Prince nodded and turned to stare at the pages in his book. "Yes," he answered, his voice normal once more. "I was quite shocked myself when I found out…" He trailed off, clearly considering and then discarding a thought. "Obviously, it's not something I bring up. Even among Slytherins it wouldn't be wise – can you imagine their reactions?" Prince grinned. "God, they'd be horrible. Blaise is bad enough without knowing that."

Harry found it in him to laugh weakly. He closed his eyes and fell silent for a long time. When he opened his eyes again, Prince was leaning over his book and reading. Harry turned to regard the books around them, looking for something to do.

"Just to your left and down a shelf should be a book on Parselmouths." Prince offered. "It's…biased, but otherwise accurate: titled _Serpent-tongue_."

Harry found the book and pulled it back to the table, settling down to read.

IIII

"Harry, _where on earth were you_?"

Harry glanced up from the doorway and looked at Neville. He didn't care that Neville looked frantic and didn't even have a book out; he walked past him through the unusually silent common room and up the stairs to their dormitory. As he'd expected, Neville trailed after him.

Harry threw himself onto his bed, and Neville moved inside towards his own before he heard Ron and Hermione coming up. His friend turned to slip back outside the door, but he didn't pull it closed behind him.

"Ron, please go back downstairs for a moment. I need to talk to Harry alone."

"Neville, I'm not going to let him think I... I _believe_ the crap they're throwing around! They all think he's the Heir of Slytherin or something, and I don't want him to think that!"

"He won't, Ron, not of you or Hermione, since he can likely hear you quite clearly from where he is. Ron, I just need to talk to him brother-to-brother, okay? Please? You can come up in a few minutes; just leave us alone for right now."

Neville stepped back through the door and shut and locked it behind himself with a spell beyond their classes. He turned around, and Harry gave him a lopsided smile. The bed shifted as Neville sat on the end, and Harry sighed before sitting up and fishing the _Serpent-Tongue _book out of his bag to toss Neville's direction.

"What's this?"

"Page 38, beginning of third paragraph." Neville could read the title and figure it out.

Neville flipped it open, murmuring as he read the lines.

"Parseltongue manifests only in the presence of a snake, or, upon rare occasion, the company of a fellow Parselmouth." Neville glanced up at him in surprise and back down at the page. "The–"

"That's all," Harry interrupted.

"Where'd you find this book, Harry?" Neville looked it over. "Is it all about Parseltongue?"

"Yeah. It was in the library, somewhere near the back. It's got a lot of information and little of use. Just talking about what you can do with it, and a bit of speculation – like Parseltongue spells or the written language or other affinities."

"Think you'll have a snake Animagus because of it?"

Harry struggled not to smile. How academic Neville could be in the face of it all. He was ignoring the part of it all that Harry feared. "No clue. Only thing it says is that transfigured snakes are also understandable. So, if it's serpentine and talks, I can understand it."

Neville fell silent, flipping through the book for a time. He shut it shortly, however, and lay it down between them. "You going to stay here for Christmas?"

"Like Hell am I going home to my dad now! I'll give him until summer to calm down."

Neville remained silent for several moments. "Nanna's going to raise Merry Hell."

Harry sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, murmuring into his knees, "Better than facing my dad after this. He's going to be _so_ damn angry…"

Neville slapped his shoulder. "Why are you freaking out, anyways? Do you really think he'll hate you for this? You don't know anything of what he's going to say for real – it's not your fault you're a Parselmouth. It doesn't make you evil, dark, or Slytherin just because you can talk to snakes – that's _your_ choice, Harry!"

Harry raised his head and growled, "It's a known dark gift, what does that tell you?"

Neville's arms were twitching, and he stood abruptly. "You're such a thick-headed, spoiled brat. I'm not talking to you until you get your head out of your bloody arse!"

Harry watched him storm out of the dorm and wrenched his curtains shut before Ron could come inside. He didn't want to talk to anybody. Neville was one of two people who knew exactly why he was scared – if Neville didn't understand, nobody would.

IIII

Harry read in bed until it was time for lessons the next day. He got to breakfast before he found out Herbology was cancelled, and with no reason to stay in public, he went back up to Gryffindor Tower to hide until it was time for Transfiguration. When he passed through the common room, Neville ignored him to the point of getting up and leaving before he'd even made it back up the stairs. Harry closed his eyes and tried not to scream in frustration. At least Ron hadn't followed him back from breakfast: he and Hermione had no idea why the two normally good friends weren't talking anymore.

Staying in the empty dormitory was stifling. After trying to read his Transfiguration textbook and finding himself completely unable to study, Harry shoved the book into his knapsack and stalked back downstairs and through the common room. The Gryffindors present fell silent at his presence, but he walked fast enough to get to the portrait hole before Ron called out for him to stop.

Harry couldn't talk to his friend right now. He broke into a run; he only wanted to talk to McGonagall now, and ask her if he could stay over Christmas Break even if it hadn't signed up when the list went around. He just couldn't go home. Ron and Neville just didn't _get_ it.

Upon his arrival at the hallway outside Transfiguration, however, Harry stopped dead. Lying in the hall before him was Justin Finch-Fletchey, and a smoky looking ghost, turned dark grey rather than its typical pearlescent silver. The scene seemed etched in livid detail before him, from Sir Nicholas' half-decapitated head, to the spiders scurrying out of the window.

As he stood frozen, Peeves came up behind Harry and started screaming,

"_Attack, attack_! _Another attack_! _No mortal or ghost is safe_!_ Run for your lives_!_ Atta~ack_!"

Harry swore explosively and would have run had the doors around him not slammed open in response to the poltergeist's yell. Everyone crowded into the corridor, and chaos reigned, much to Peeves' enjoyment. Finally, McGonagall shot several loud bangs from her wand, and the students cleared out of her way, looking suspiciously Harry's way. Peeves, foiled by the reestablishment of order, began to sing,

"_Oh Potter, you rotter. Oh what have you done?_

_You're killing off students, you think it's good fun _–"

"That's enough, Peeves," McGonagall snapped. Peeves left, sticking out his tongue, and McGonagall turned her sharp glare on Harry's sullen form. He was trying to avoid everyone's stares – it was harder than he'd have liked.

The teacher turned away and quickly delegated the removal of the two victims to Madam Pomfrey's clutches as Harry moved as far as the crowd would let him to sulk by the wall, trying to control his maelstrom of emotions: fear, disgust, anger, and shame. Finally, however, McGonagall addressed him once more.

"This way, Potter."

Harry silently followed in her wake. He felt like someone had poured lead into his shoes, but he trudged along behind her all the way to a large stone gargoyle that opened to the password 'Sherbert Lemon,' and up a flight of rising stairs. He could guess where he was going – he'd seen the gargoyle a couple times before with his parents – the Headmaster's office. His belly clenched painfully. He hoped his parents wouldn't be brought in – he _couldn_'_t_ face his father, he just couldn't. But he didn't argue with McGonagall, just followed quietly and stood obediently in the office after she left him with the whirring silver instruments and a dilapidated Fawkes. Harry acknowledged him quietly – he'd seen the bird several times before during Dumbledore's visits to his family's house and wished he could have seen him on a better day. He could have used a gorgeous phoenix to improve his mood and take his mind off the inevitable summons for his parents.

A squawk from Fawkes was all the warning Harry had before he burst into flames. Harry jumped and stared as he turned into a fireball and became ash. He was still staring when Dumbledore came in.

"Ah, I see he's come around now."

"Uh... Yeah." Harry nodded dully – this was the first time he'd ever _seen_ the burning. He glanced up at Professor Dumbledore and then quickly looked away. Calmly, the Headmaster regarded him before sighing and rubbing his nose.

"I do not believe you are the one opening the Chamber, Harry, and I can reassure you that if there is the blood of Slytherin in you, it is so utterly weak there is no way to trace it and it has no power over you unless you let it." He gave him a long, fixated stare. "It is very possible it is only a gift of chance, and is certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

Harry remained silent, refusing to let Dumbledore see that his words were needed, much less meant anything to him even as a burden slipped from his shoulders.

Dumbledore watched him for several long moments before asking quietly, "Harry, look at me."

Wiping his eyes, Harry defiantly looked up into Dumbledore's bright blue eyes. He refused to give him any hint at how troubled he was by this – much less _why_.

After several moments, Dumbledore looked down again and sighed before shuffling a few papers. "Technically, I should be contacting your parents, but since I do not believe you have been at the heart of anything drastically important, I shall refrain. Your _friend_, Neville," Harry didn't miss the emphasis, "informed me you would like to remain at the castle over Christmas break. He came, I believe, while you were secluding yourself in your dormitory this morning." Harry didn't let his gaze flicker in the slightest, even as he avoided meeting Dumbledore's eyes again. "Your little sister will be most disappointed if you do not return home, you know."

"With all due respect, sir," Harry spat, "I don't care right now. I'd like some time to myself to settle…this." Harry made a disgusted gesture in general, and Dumbledore smiled comfortingly once more, even if there was disappointment in his eyes.

"Very well. I believe it can be arranged. Be sure to inform your parents by owl of your change of plans before the ride home. It would be best to send it now."

Harry nodded curtly and left.

IIII

The school was understandably panicked over the double attack on Nick and Justin. A number of people had taken to avoiding Harry like the plague which was better than more insults. The saving grace of the ruckus was Fred and George. Upon hearing of the preposterous rumours, they decided to play on them, preceding Harry through the corridors with pompous expressions, announcing,

"Make way for the Heir of Slytherin; seriously evil second-year coming through."

The best part was when they brushed aside Percy's objections by saying he needed to be getting along to the Chamber of Secrets to enjoy tea and crumpets with his fanged servant. Harry then had to ponder the impossibility of his presumed basilisk holding a cup. How would that work?

However, his biggest surprise was when Ron called out to Neville and clapped him on the back, thanking him for staying at the school with him, Harry, and Hermione. Harry finally broke the silence between them that had now lasted several days.

"I thought you were going home, Neville."

Neville glanced at him sidelong before looking back at his schoolwork. "The deal I made was that if you stayed, I stayed. I'm not leaving you here alone with only Slytherins and the Chessman for company." Hermione lifted her head to glare; Neville acknowledged it without looking up. "You're already good company, 'Mione. I don't have to worry about him hanging out with you."

Ron suddenly looked between Neville and Hermione's faint blush with worry. Harry bit his lip softly to keep from snickering. Apparently Ginny wasn't the only Weasley with a crush.

When the holidays came, and it was only him, Neville, Hermione, and the Weasleys in the tower, Harry had difficulty enjoying the silence. He'd sent his letter to his parents, informing them of his decision to remain at the school, but a reply had not yet come. Harry feared it would be arriving shortly, and as he'd feared, it came the first morning of Winter break. The family's large barn owl, Stag, dropped a vivid red letter on Harry's plate, and Ron stopped asking why Harry didn't have an appetite. Once opened, his father's voice ran across the hall.

"_I am very disappointed in you, Harry, hiding at school like this_! _Enjoy staying for Easter - I suppose that will suit you, too_?_ I don't believe _half_ of what I hear, so I expect a letter from you explaining _everything!"His father's voice stopped, coughed, and gagged, before muttering something irritable about Lily. He continued at last with,"_Happy Christmas, too_."

Harry swallowed hard and stood, dragging his bag up to his arms as he walked quickly from the Great Hall. His friends hadn't found anything to say before he was out of hearing and once far enough out of sight, he let the tears fall. He returned to the silent Gryffindor common room and drew open a window to look out over the grounds and let the cold air numb his hot cheeks.

Not five minutes later Hedwig found him, bearing a letter in handwriting that made his stomach both hot with hope and cold with dread of what it might say. Too eager to leave it, he opened it with shaking fingers and read the words with a heavy heart.

_Dear Harry,_

_I would just like to inform you that your father is nursing his second headache this week. While I am also disappointed to not be seeing you this Christmas, I respect your choice to remain at school. But please remember, Harry: we are your family, and we won't abandon you for any reason._

_It was a shock to find out you are a Parselmouth this way; it has come at a bad time, when we aren't able to be there for you. Your father was most unpleasantly surprised and, admittedly, angry – he thought someone might have played a bad joke on you – but he has calmed down now._

Harry suppressed a snort. Of course his father would think it a bad joke; his son couldn't be a Parselmouth, after all.

He wiped his face with his sleeve and shut the window, sitting down by the fire to warm up a little and pulling his legs close. When his mother said his father was angry, but had calmed down, it usually meant they'd had an argument and she'd won. He continued the paragraph.

_Your godfather also has calmed down. You know yourself the reputation of Parselmouths, and it is a challenge you must move past, particularly in light of recent events. You are no different than you were before, Harry. You didn't just suddenly become a Parselmouth, it has always been there, and it always will be. You are not __what__ you are, you are __who__ you are. Your actions define you, not your history._

_Nanna is most upset at not having you home, but I have explained you had reasons to stay and will be sure to send along her present. I do hope you bought them, yes? We wouldn't want you to think this is an excuse to get out of it. _(_I tease, child_)._ Your presents will come in time for Christmas – if you have a preferred method of delivery, I am sure Dumbledore will oblige. _

_Please think of us while you're away, and be sure to come home next break, all right?_

_Love,_

_ Mother_

Harry smiled weakly, but leaned back to regard the ceiling. He could see his mother, if he liked. She had offered to bring the presents in person – but would his father want to come along? Would Nanna? Nanna probably wouldn't be a problem. His father, however, would be. Wouldn't it be better to not see any of them?

Wouldn't it be braver to face up to them?

Harry straightened with a scowl. He wasn't going to do something just because it was brave. He was past that now. But that meant he wouldn't see his mother. He wrapped his arms around himself and sniffed. He _needed_ to see his mother, and it had nothing to do with bravery. Grabbing a piece of parchment, he quickly wrote his reply. Even just to be hugged by her would be nice. It'd help him to feel less … whatever this was.

Sending Hedwig out the window, Harry looked around and then at the time. The other students would be back from breakfast soon, and he didn't want to deal with them or their questions. He left his bag in his room and moved down the stairs by the back ways, slipping into the library and back to the far corner. He would either find time alone there, or…

"Hello Prince," he said. "Do you ever do anything else?"

Prince looked up at him and smiled. "On occasion. I fly, I brew potions, do homework, argue with Blaise, talk to Snape … but I like reading. Are you all right?"

Harry shrugged, taking a seat. "I'm fine. My dad's just a little…"

"Light. He's very Light, very single-minded, and Parseltongue is Dark. You knew he'd react like that, didn't you?"

Harry sat down and pulled over one of the books Prince had been looking at: Charms.

"He'll come around, right?"

"He's come 'round," Harry admitted, "but he bloody well shouldn't have had to. I'm his bloody son. Does he think I became a Parselmouth and half-Slytherin just to spite him? I am who I bloody well am."

Prince stared at him over his book. "But you still value his opinion, and you fear losing it."

Harry jerked. "How – Why?"

"You learn to spot things like that, Potter. It's part of being Slytherin, or so Blaise tells me."

Harry felt a bristle of dislike, but he squelched it. It was a reaction from the attitude he'd cultivated last year – the attitude that had nearly gotten him killed. "Teach me."

Prince shut his book and looked up. "What?"

"Teach me. To read emotions, to control my own. If you're so bloody smart, you can do that, right?" Prince's face darkened, and Harry fished for incentive. "Please?"

The Slytherin tilted his head. "And what do I get?"

"What do you want?"

"What can you give?"

Harry stopped. This was a Slytherin he was working with – a foreigner, but still Slytherin. They never did anything for nothing. But what could he offer? He didn't have much. What would a student want from another kid? No, what would a Slytherin want from a Gryffindor … or a foreigner from a local …

"Information. Anything I know or can look up."

"I'm not cheating on tests, Potter."

Harry grinned. "And I'm not talking about school."

Prince smiled slowly. "Good to know. It's a deal."

He shut the book on one hand and reached the other across the table. Harry watched him; with his sharp nose, he looked like some great bird of prey – a young one at any rate. However, he knew what he was doing now. Harry took it without making him wait, his own face bright with a smile.

It takes one predator to meet another. They didn't treat with prey. Harry was pleased Prince thought him equal, and he was determined he wouldn't belie his choice.

IIII

Christmas morning came, and Harry woke staring at the red canopy over his bed in Gryffindor tower. He lay still for a long moment, putting his thoughts in order – and perspective, as best he could. He wouldn't be sad, he insisted to himself, just because he missed home. He didn't _want_ to be home right now. His mother had brought him his presents the day she'd received his response. They'd had a hug, and time alone for him to calm down, and then she'd been gone again. It wasn't that bad.

He'd sent her back with the presents he'd gotten the year before and a short apology for his dad. Stubbornly, he sat up. Directly in front of him was a pile of presents. It was enough to make anyone smile.

Ron and Neville weren't awake yet, but Harry didn't mind the silence. He pulled the packages towards himself and began to work his way through.

Hermione had gotten him a luxury eagle-feather quill and Ron, a book on chess (which would probably be useless, but Neville or even Prince might find it interesting). Mrs Weasley had given him another knitted sweater, this time a deep burgundy. Hagrid had sent him something this year, a tin of treacle fudge he tried to dig into and nearly got stuck. He made a note to find a way to make it edible and also visit the man. Hagrid might know something of what his parents got up to in the forest – and it would be fun to hear the tales from someone not breaking the rules.

Neville had gotten him new boots; Remus, a large box of chocolate; and Sirius, a new pair of Quidditch gloves. Frank and Alice had together bought him a book on magical snakes that he quickly put aside as his face heated. He grabbed the last package, a heavy floppy one from both his parents. There was a letter taped on top in his dad's handwriting. Harry opened that first.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm sorry about the howler, but it frustrated me that you're avoiding coming home just because of some stupid stunt. I'm not that angry, just shocked – I never thought you might be a Parselmouth. I didn't know it could just show up like that, but apparently it can. You're not going to suddenly turn into a Dark Wizard because you have this talent – as your mother has yelled at me, it didn't just appear. You've always been that way, and we just never met any snakes for you to talk to._

_I hope you'll appreciate what your mother and I got you. The robe is a little big on purpose, as twelve isn't the age for formal social functions. We bought it from someone who projected your height in a few years, and it's got charms to give it leeway, and if that doesn't work, we can get it resized. I hope you will appreciate it. The pendant, however, is directly from me. I hope you like it._

_Love,_

_Your Father_

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and tore into the gift. It was indeed a robe, but Harry had only seen a robe so fine in the pictures from when his father and godfather had received their Order of Merlin awards. He set aside the necklace that fell off the top in order to stand and look over the robes. They were indeed large, but he wouldn't have to grow too much to fit into them. The base colour was a shiny dark grey, but the sides showed the edges of black marks. Turning it around, he blinked. There was a pattern of stripes down the back arcing away from the middle. Turning it back around, Harry smiled. It resembled an adder's stripes.

Around the collar and sleeves was subtle green embroidery, hard to notice but there, in a gentle, curving pattern over the shoulders. Harry could well imagine the argument his mother must have made – if she'd even let his dad see it.

"_The colour will bring out his eyes; stop being so against Slytherin_!"

Harry's smile faltered, and he gently refolded his new robes and placed them on his bed. He picked up the pendant and froze. Dangling from the end of the long, gold chain was a dark grey serpent with gold bands across its back. Small emeralds glinted in its eyes as it stared out of a complicated coil. It was large for a pendant, but Harry found it entrancing both by its beauty... and what it meant. His _father_ had gotten him this. His Slytherin-hating father had gotten him a snake pendant. Harry gently rubbed his eyes and swallowed before sliding the long necklace over his head. He needed to clean up his bed, even though the sustained crinkling would probably wake his dorm-mates. He needed to be moving.

As Neville groggily swore, Harry brushed the paper into a pile and found a small package lagging behind, his name scrawled across the tag. His mouth twitched. He'd forgotten Nanna's present.

Harry said a quick "Happy Christmas" to Neville – jerking his friend into awareness, whose attention was instantly caught by the end of his bed – and then sat down to rip open the present, wondering what Nanna thought of his. He'd given her a small box of sugarquills and one of the photos Colin had taken of Harry and his friends in the common room when they weren't paying attention. It was one he'd actually liked.

Naturally, she'd put a short note in with the gift _Don't you dare stay at Hogwarts again without me, Harry_! _I'm only forgiving you this time_!and a Christmas coloured scarf of alternating red and green. Harry laughed, his worry disappearing under Christmas spirit. His father had swallowed his dislike and accepted him, and Nanna was the same as ever. He still had a home.

"Wha'choo laughing at, Harry?" Ron asked, still half-asleep.

"Nothing, Ron." Harry caught Neville's eye and smiled, turning to face the redhead. "Don't you have your own presents to start digging through?"

Ron came fully awake in a moment, and dove into the pile. Harry waited, comparing and appreciating Neville's and Ron's gifts to his own until Ron yelped.

"Harry! What the Hell is this for?"

He was brandishing a thick book of Potions Theory. Harry kept his face politely curious as he answered,

"Potions?" Harry offered. Neville snorted. "Or a paperweight."

He dodged the projectile it made, breaking into laughter. He'd wondered what Ron would think of that.

"It really is useful," Neville pointed out, forlorn.

IIII

Harry came out of Christmas break better than he'd been going in. Lockhart had left for the holidays, which meant he'd had the entire time free of the man's ego and posturing. It had been plenty eventful being at Hogwarts – anything with the Weasley twins would be, and adding Harry and Neville didn't help.

He'd worn the pendant every day of holiday and gotten several compliments, but after classes came back in, he tucked it under his robe. He especially didn't want to see if Lockhart found it reason to start talking to him again. He also didn't want questions. He'd only told one person over the holidays who had given it to him; Prince had thought the pendant to be very nice.

When the halls filled again, the students were a bit calmer than they'd been before – there had been no more attacks, after all, and the matter was mostly swept under the rug like a giant hairball. Lockhart was right up to his old tricks, with Hermione shooting him down, and within the week, Harry spotted Prince slipping something into Lockhart's purse. Harry had never been willing to go near the _thing_ himself, but apparently Prince had found a worthy cause to try. When the man reached inside to get a quill shortly thereafter, he screamed like a girl and dropped it. Out of it slid an adder, hissing obscenely and hurrying towards the outside.

Harry slid towards the end of the hall, not wanting to catch the blame, but before he got there, Lockhart had turned blue and was cycling through green to yellow. That, more than anything, confirmed the culprit. Slipping away unseen, Harry went to the back of the library to congratulate Prince.

The Slytherin waved the thanks off, but explained, "I fed the snake a colour potion, so he's got the normal venom, and he'll keep cycling through the rainbow. Did anyone try to blame you?"

"I left too soon and hadn't been near him before then. Besides, it's not like I do stellar in Snape's class."

"You're not failing," Prince pointed out. "Far from it, in fact. I think Severus takes five points off every essay just because you signed it, or something."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, he'd do that."

He received a curious look overtop Prince's book. "Are you implying you could have done that stunt, Potter?"

"Well, yes," Harry slid a hand to his pendant, "but I saw you put the snake in his purse."

Prince looked all the way up from his book and closed it for a moment. "Touché. No self-respecting man should have a purse, anyways."

Harry smiled and sat down, pulling over one of the Charms books from the table.

"Has anyone else commented on your pendant yet?"

Harry blinked. "I keep it out of sight."

"Don't want questions?"

"It's not about the snake aspect." Harry shook his head. "It's just … I don't want to tell them it's from my father."

Prince stared in silence until he murmured, "No one would really know it's so unusual for him to do so."

"But that's what makes it so important to me."

Prince smiled slowly, his eyes dark. "I get it."

* * *

A/N: Yes, this one's late too. Agh. My only excuse if family coming to visit and yes, more laziness. *Hides* I swear I'm getting some writing done, promise?

I hope you all enjoy it,  
Fire & Napalm


	8. Chapter 8

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Eight**:

"Ronald, you are the most insensitive bloke I have ever met!"

Harry pulled out of his homework in surprise. Neville had left the table to stand behind the chairs with Ron, Hermione – and Ginny. Harry folded the book shut on the empty parchment and stood to join them. Hermione was holding Ginny's shoulders as Ron and Neville argued quietly.

"What were you thinking? She's clearly distraught and then you nearly yell it over the entire common room! She doesn't need that; she's your _sister_! Can't you be a little more sensitive?"

"Something's _wrong,_ Neville. She needs help, and I didn't know who else to go to!"

"Well I dunno, maybe _Pomfrey?"_

"If you're going to rip each other's heads off," Harry said, "maybe you could do it with more privacy just outside? It's not like it's curfew or anything; it's the middle of a Saturday."

Ron blinked while Neville beckoned Hermione to follow – Ginny in the circle of her arms – and then he scurried after them. Stepping out into the corridor, Harry led them down two flights to a deserted landing, and then looked between them all.

"So?" he asked.

"It's Ginny," Ron answered. "She's been acting weird, you know that." Harry did; he'd thought it was just her crush, but she hadn't warmed up to him again at all this year, when she'd never shut up before. "She was acting dodgy all this week, trying to slip away, so finally I cornered her, and she told me about this diary, said it was writing _back_."

He produced the small black book from his pocket, and Harry took it, looking it over cautiously. When he flipped through the pages, it turned up blank. "There's nothing here."

"I know. That's what's so suspicious. What if it enchanted her or something? She won't tell me."

Harry looked to Ginny, but the girl ducked her head and curled back up against Hermione. He turned his gaze to his year-mate, and she gently pried Ginny away.

"Ginny, what is this diary?" Hermione coaxed.

Ginny looked frantically between them all before looking at the floor. "I – I found it among my books after we went to Diagon Alley earlier this year and – and I thought Mum had gotten it for me. I wrote in it, I know I did, and – and…" She looked up, tears spilling down her cheeks from glassy eyes, and Harry felt something in his gut recoil. He stopped himself from taking a step back with difficulty – he didn't know why he wanted to, he just did.

"I can't remember!" Ginny cried. "I can't remember what happened! I know I've written in it, but there isn't anything there anymore! I don't want to see it anymore: I'm scared!"

Neville looked to Harry, who was as uncomfortable as he felt. Harry handed him the diary to see for himself. All the pages were blank.

"Ginny," Neville cut through her sobs, "you're sure you wrote in this? Ron said you said it wrote back…"

"I don't remember!" she wailed. "Please, please! I think it's something terrible, but I don't know, I don't remember anything about it! I didn't do it!"

"We should really take this to McGonagall," Harry murmured to Neville.

Ginny whipped around and grabbed his arm. "Don't take this to a teacher! Please don't! I don't want to get in trouble!"

"If this is enchanted, we should have them look at it and at you. It looks like it's done _something._ The teachers could sort it out."

"Please don't bring the teachers into it! I'm not going to write in it again, I swear! Just don't. Please, Harry, please!" Ginny slid to the ground and started to cry at Harry's feet. He looked at the others and met only more bewildered stares. What were they to do? He knew what they _should_ do, but this was Ginny. He didn't want to get her in trouble.

He dropped to his knees and gently touched Ginny's shoulder.

"I won't mention the diary, Ginny. I promise. But will you please go to Pomfrey and have her look you over? Just to make sure you're okay. You don't have to say anything; just have Ron drag you there like the overprotective brother he is and let her look you over, maybe get a calming draught. Will you do that?"

Ginny nodded weakly and stood, eyeing the diary like it was a viper. Harry saw her look and pocketed the black diary. "I'll keep this myself." He smiled. "You won't have to see it. Do you want me to burn it or something?"

Ginny shrugged, but she'd tensed again. Harry nodded down the hall at Ron, and the boy led his sister away with a grateful look at Harry. Once they were out of sight, Harry pulled the diary out once more and stared at the cover. There was a faded date there, of more than fifty years ago. He flipped it open, and Neville saw the name first.

"T. M. Riddle." he observed. "Ever heard of him?"

Harry shrugged. "The diary's more than fifty years old, Neville. How would I?"

"Parents or something." He shrugged. Closing it, he looked at the back: the address was in London. "Looks like they knew the muggle side of things, to buy this."

"And there isn't anything else more significant about it?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing," Harry observed. "Not a single word in between the covers."

"Ginny said she wrote in it," Neville pointed out. "And she told Ron it was writing _back._"

"You think it's dangerous?"

Neville bristled. "I don't know. Don't write in it until you're sure. Maybe let it sit, or … something. You could hand it in and leave Ginny's name out, you know."

Harry eyed the diary in his hand, well aware of Neville and Hermione's stares. "No," he decided, "I'll hold onto it for the moment. I'm curious."

Neville frowned. "I'll bet Ginny was too."

IIII

The weather brightened alongside news of the mandrakes getting more and more mature. Soon, Pomfrey reassured them, they would be ready for use and the petrified students would be woken.

There had been no more attacks since Justin and Nick: no sign of the culprit either. Everything had gone quiet – including Ginny. She was avoiding Harry even more now and squeaked every time he caught her staring.

Some of the students also avoided him, still convinced from the Duelling Club that he was guilty. Peeves didn't help with singing his song at every opportunity. Add in Filch and his stares, and it made for an interesting spring. Harry put it out of his mind and looked forward to the entertainment of the older years on Valentine's Day – someone always managed to pick a fight. He had tried to talk Neville into betting on who would get hexed, but his friend hadn't taken the bait.

Coming down to the Great Hall of the morning in question, Harry yawned – Wood had had them out late, practising, and he'd still had homework to finish. It had kept him up later than he'd liked, but he still had to get up. He came through the doors to the Great Hall and halted.

"This is the wrong room, right?" he asked Neville. His eyes twitched in pain.

Behind him, his best friend grunted and pushed past him. "Let's just get it over with. Sooner we eat, sooner we're out."

"We could visit the kitchens," Harry whimpered.

"You want to be blindsided by whatever else he might come up with?" They were at the table, and Neville pushed Harry into a seat before claiming his own. Vanishing the confetti off his food, he quickly began to eat. Harry didn't look even though he knew Lockhart had stood, picking at some food himself. He could hardly see the man – pink against pink blended very well. He'd coordinated himself to the room.

Harry had to grumble, "I'll bet the damn Heir stopped just to spare himself the shame of Lockhart trying to claim the glory."

Just down from him, Lee Jordan snorted.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-five people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging a surprise for you all, and it doesn't end here!"

Harry thumped his head onto the table and muttered words that would get his mouth washed out. Lockhart clapped, and the doors opened once more. Harry looked up out of morbid curiosity, and felt Neville bury his head into his back. Harry made a half-hearted effort to shrug him off. A line of surly looking dwarves marched into the Hall wearing little wings and carrying harps as though they were weaponry.

"My friendly card-carrying cupids! They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines!" Harry wondered why they didn't just gang up on him already. "And the fun doesn't stop here. I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion. Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a love potion? And while you're…"

"Because they're unethical?" Harry muttered.

"And he looks like he'd feed you poison," Ron added dismally. "If only he'd poison Lockhart."

"Did he just say Flitwick knows Entrancing Enchantments?" Neville asked. "Good grief. Snape does look like he'd feed someone poison. If only…" Neville looked skyward and got a face full of confetti. He banished it and returned to grumbling at his meal.

Ron turned to Hermione. "Please tell me you weren't one of the forty-five."

"As if!" She stabbed her morning eggs with her knife.

The dwarves were all over the school that day, with no respect for class time or anything else. They passed a group of Ravenclaws and Slytherins separating after one class, and a boy their year hollered, "_Hey, who's a dumb prig, Draco_?" to a chorus of laughter. Someone else blew a raspberry, but the Slytherins left without looking back – even though Draco visibly tensed. Harry was about to ask when suddenly his bag was jerked back. He came to a halt and looked down.

"I have a Valentine for a Harry Potter," the dwarf sneered before holding out a bright red parchment. Harry's stomach dropped, but he took it anyways. Preparing for a blast of noise, he flipped it open – it had already begun to tellingly smoulder on the edges. Someone had enchanted a Howler as a Valentine. It didn't bode well.

A girl's voice began to sing loudly, a voice he didn't know.

"_I know a girl with a crush on you,_

_She finds your eyes very pretty!_

_I know a girl with a crush on you,_

_She's going to hate this ditty!"_

It stopped and finished burning. Harry knew his face was as red as the parchment, but he shouldered his bag and stalked to his next class. Neville helpfully came abreast of him.

"I don't think that was any of the Gryffindor girls."

"You don't know all the years," Harry grumbled, "And you're not helping." As he'd feared, Seamus was beginning to sing the Valentine in falsetto. Harry wished desperately he could hex the prat. He didn't even have the first clue who it was _about_!

"Want me to shut him up?"

"You think I'm going to stop hearing that anytime before next year?"

Neville paused. "It'll probably wear out by the end of the month."

Harry snarled and stormed into their next class.

IIII

He soon had a good excuse to find time alone. The common room was full of laughter at Harry's Valentine, overshadowing a few spats and fistfights that had resulted from the day. He disappeared out the door and went straight to the library after only a half hour in the common room. He didn't need it for any of his homework; he just needed to be somewhere else.

As he'd suspected – and hoped – Prince was sitting at the table in the far back. Harry sat down and raised an eyebrow, and Prince answered the unspoken question.

"If one more person blows a raspberry at me, I'm going to hex their lips off."

"A raspberry?"

"Tracey Davis sent me a Howler Valentine after I showed her how to do one for Draco – hence the tagline '_Hey you dumb prig_!' being shouted at him all day today. Mine included a loud and precise raspberry."

"Ah," Harry sighed, wondering… Was she the one who sent him the Valentine? He didn't want to ask. He didn't need another girl with a crush on him – Ginny was bad enough, if it was even a crush she had. "Avoiding everyone, then?"

"Yes. It's not like I have any homework left. I've been here about a half hour."

Harry nodded and emptied his bag, stacking his unnecessary books to one side as he tried to remember what assignments he had: Charms work, sure; Transfiguration – always, same as Potions…

"What's that little notebook, Potter?"

Harry looked up and found Prince's black eyes pinned on the diary he'd added to the pile. "Just something I found," he lied. He pulled back from licking his lips and then met Prince's eyes. "It's not dangerous."

Prince didn't look convinced. "May I look at it?"

What harm could it do? "Sure. Be careful."

"Like you need to tell _me_ that," Prince muttered, but he began to look over the diary himself in detail, cover to cover. "Have you written in this?"

"Is there writing?"

"No. Just asking." Prince pulled out his quill. "May I?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't kill it."

Prince snorted as he let a drop of ink fall. Harry's attention was locked on Prince and what he was doing, his intent to try and do homework forgotten. The ink glistened on the page for long enough Prince had put the quill to the paper before it suddenly disappeared. Prince froze, the nib a breath from the page.

"Did you see that?" he asked. His voice sounded amazingly calm.

"Yeah. It … disappeared. How's that work?"

"A _lot_ of work, is what," Prince answered. He paused and then scooted his chair over. Harry met him in the middle so they could both see the pages. Prince wet the quill again and wrote 'Hello?'

The word shone on the page, and sank away.

'_Hello. Who is this?'_

Harry and Prince both stared at the words, words that had written themselves on the page. They sank back into the paper just as Prince's writing had.

"What was that?"

"A book that writes itself?" Prince guessed. "Who knows? I wouldn't advocate writing much, but…" He turned, and Harry found a curious, tight smile on his face. "Do you want to know more?"

Harry waited and then nodded. "Is it safe?"

Prince shrugged. "Safe enough." He wet the quill again and wrote 'Delorian. Who are you?"

"Delorian?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. 'Safe enough' – what, was that _normal_ Salem reasoning?

"Middle name. Hush." Alan pointed out the forming answer.

'_My name is Tom Riddle.'_

'Who were you?'

'_A student of Hogwarts. Who are you?'_

'A student myself.' Prince sat back, grinning. "This should be fun. How long do you think it will take to get anything useful out of him?"

"A while." Harry bit his lip. "Maybe throw him a hook?"

Prince gave him a pleased smile. "You're learning."

'You are from years ago; you must know Hogwarts history,' Prince wrote. 'Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?'

Harry scowled. "Big enough hook?"

Prince shrugged. "Well, it's a valid line of enquiry. What are the chances –"

The writing had come back. _'It was nothing but a legend, wasn't it? A chamber meant only for the Heir of Slytherin to open.'_

Prince paused before writing. 'A friend of mine is a Parselmouth and the Chamber's been opened. Everyone thinks it's him. I don't see how he could be the heir, but isn't Parseltongue only Slytherin's gift?'

"Prince!" Harry hissed.

"Hush. He doesn't know it's you. I'm not about to offer up myself – no offence, but I like nobody knowing."

There was a long pause before the writing returned. _'The Chamber was opened in my time, too. Nobody knew who was doing it, but I'd thought I'd caught him in my time. He was expelled, but he was never removed from the school. Maybe it's him doing it again?'_

Harry and Prince both froze in place. Prince stared between him and the diary; what were the chances it was the right age? Prince quickly scrawled, 'Do you remember who did it?'

There was another long pause before he answered. '_After a girl was killed, I caught him myself. It was a third-year that only loved animals, but couldn't understand how dangerous they were. After it was settled, they spread it around that her death was an accident, and I was told to just be silent.'_

'Do you know why?'

'_Shame, I suppose. Disgust with the system.'_

Prince smiled bitterly. 'What was in the Chamber?'

Another pause. _'I never saw it clearly.'_

'You said the perpetrator wasn't imprisoned, expelled but still close to the school. Who is it?'

The pause returned, longer than ever. Harry began to feel like he was being manipulated. Finally, the writing appeared again.

'_Rubeus Hagrid.'_

Prince sat back hard. The writing disappeared, but Harry felt only slightly relieved. He sat back slowly himself, tapping his lip. Prince spoke first.

"Hagrid isn't the Heir of Slytherin."

"I know." Harry nodded. "That's just impossible."

"Great. A lying diary."

"Hagrid is old enough to be able to tell us what happened, though." Harry pointed out.

Prince flapped his hand at him, pressing his right hand to his temple. "You go ask, then. Enjoy it."

"Are you alright, Prince?"

He nodded curtly. "Fine. Just a headache."

"You sure?"

"I get them a lot here. It's probably the different air or something." When Prince looked up and caught his eyes again, he smiled bitterly. "Shoo, Potter. I'll nip by the hospital wing before packing it in; stop worrying about me."

Harry gathered up the diary and his books and left. He had things to do – not the least of which was figure out how to talk the others into asking Hagrid the question on his mind.

Somehow he didn't think 'What made someone frame you for opening the Chamber?' would make for good conversation.

IIII

Harry was right that talking and finally wearing his friends down to agree to talk to Hagrid about it was a chore, but after he agreed to handle any upset that came of it, they were there with him to visit Hagrid.

They went after classes on Wednesday to Hagrid's hut, and the groundskeeper greeted them cheerfully – Harry felt a sting of guilt. They hadn't visited him much since last year. It only made him feel worse as they were sat down at the table and served tea.

After a few pleasantries, Harry bit the bullet and asked,

"Hagrid, you were at the school when the attacks happened last, right?"

Hagrid nearly broke the mug he was holding and turned to Harry, flushed. "What d'ya wanna know that fer?"

Harry swallowed his discomfort. "I looked it up and heard you were arrested for it. I want to know why they got it wrong."

Hagrid relaxed minutely, but he stopped talking to them, instead shuffling around his cupboards so loudly Harry nearly missed his answer. "I don't like talkin' about it."

"So you won't tell us anything?"

"I told Dumbledore everythin' I knew, o' course! I just don't see why yer need ter know. Ask yer parents; it's on record."

Harry raised a hand to cut off Neville and asked, "I just wanted to double-check that the attacks were the same now as they were then. You know the Ministry loses things. Were the students petrified?"

Hagrid sat back down, nodding glumly. "All o' 'em, 'til Myrtle. She was just keeled over dead in the bathroom when they found her. Nobody knows what did it." Hagrid took a hard gulp of tea. "Dippet – the Headmaster then – was talkin' o' closin' the school. When Riddle found out 'bout Aragog and caught me tryin' to smuggle him out, he turned me in fer it."

"Nobody believed you?" Hermione asked.

"What was Aragog?" Harry cut in.

Hagrid looked at Hermione first. "Riddle was Prefect, top o' his ruddy class. I was just a bumblin' third-year, always causin' trouble with my pets." He turned to Harry, smiling weakly, "Aragog is an Acromantula, but he didn't do it! He was jus' a little thing at the time! He was terrified of whatever was roamin' the school. Refused to tell me what it was."

Ron made a soft whimpering sound. Harry touched his chin thoughtfully. "Acromantula don't petrify."

"What would an acromantula be scared of?" Neville wondered.

Harry could only shrug. "Thank you for telling us, Hagrid."

The big man shrugged awkwardly and stared sadly into his mug. "Yer deserve to know. Yer deserve the truth over the Ministry's drivel. Ye're so much like yer Mum and Dad." Hagrid took a long drink. Only Neville really noticed Harry stiffening, but Harry kept his smile froze in place and quickly moved the conversation onward to happier things.

IIII

Easter holidays brought with them the decision about what subjects to take for their next year. Harry had already gotten a letter from his mother with her recommendations and his father's and godfather's – which mostly consisted of the most popular subjects: Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and Divination – the last two as soft options.

He'd brought it up with Prince in the library, which had made him feel stupid: the Slytherin was taking five extra classes, making for twelve subjects. Harry had asked him if he was crazy. As it was, he didn't want to take that many, but some of them looked interesting…

"I am not taking Divination, Ron," Harry repeated. He was back in the common room with his homework, three books from the library in front of him. "I have had enough of the insubstantial this year and have no interest in learning it either."

Ron frowned; he wasn't seriously considering any of the electives, wanting to just breeze through. Harry could appreciate the sentiment – he didn't want to bust his brain, either – but Prince had been curious about the Meditations class, and Harry felt that had some merit. Currently, all he'd marked was Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures.

"Well, I'll still be in Care with you, won't I?" Ron pushed the paper away. "Divination would be good for sleeping in. I heard the teacher reserved the right to kick you out for sleeping in Meditations."

"Yeah, I heard that as well." Harry smiled. "But still, it sounds interesting, and I can always drop it if it's too much. It's not got a lot of homework, I heard you just have to pay attention in class – it's all about focusing."

"I'd think you'd be more likely to drop Arithmancy. Bill said that was _hard_."

Harry shrugged. "I like Maths. What are you taking, Neville, Hermione?"

Neville flipped his paper so he could see: Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Herblore. Harry whistled.

"Remus said Herblore was _hard_. A lot of memorization."

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"'The different properties of the ingredients in spells and potions'," Neville recite. "Mostly potions. Not a lot of spells need ingredients, but some do – and you learn what they do, why they're used, and how it all works. It's a lot of information, but it sounds like I won't get bored."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, sounds good. What about you, Hermione?"

"I'm taking everything." She sniffed.

"Everything?" Harry repeated. "Hermione, there isn't enough time in a day. The most you can take is five more – and that's a lot of work." He looked at what she'd marked and sure enough, every square was checked. "Look, Herblore _and_ Enchantments? Do you know how much work that is, much less added to Arithmancy? My mother said she nearly choked on how much homework she had for Enchantments alone – you can learn the basics of that in Charms, same as Herblore crosses into Potions – you don't have to take them all!"

Hermione turned to glare at him, and Harry quickly backed off. "This is _my_ schooling, and I'll thank you to keep your nose _out!"_

"Hermione," Neville tried, "You probably won't like Divination, and Muggle Studies will be useless to you – you're _muggleborn_. Surely –"

"No!" She pulled her papers together and stood. "It's none of your business! Leave me alone!"

Harry watched her storm off and sighed, leaning back against his chair. "Sheesh!"

Neville himself just sighed. "She'll get over it. McGonagall will set her straight."

"Let's hope."

"But, Harry, I thought you were a bit interested in Divination earlier this year." He looked at him sidelong. "Have you been writing in that diary again?"

Someone gasped, and another person swore – they looked up as a black robe whipped up the girls' stairwell. Harry narrowed his eyes, Ron sighed.

"That was probably Ginny."

Harry nodded, still watching. Ginny's attitude hadn't improved. If anything, she'd gotten even more skittish. He'd caught her staring at him, white in the face, many a time. He really didn't think this was a crush. She almost seemed terrified of him. "Do you think it's about the diary?"

Neville nodded slowly. "Harry, you should destroy that. Burn it, or hand it into a teacher. They're more likely to be able to disenchant it than you are, and maybe they could get more information out of it. You can find out why it lied to you, why Riddle thought it was Hagrid's fault when it wasn't."

Harry hummed, not sure yet himself what he should do. Neville scowled at him and returned his glare to his paper.

IIII

Quidditch practise was finally getting drier and, by that fact, better. Their next match was against Hufflepuff, and Harry was excited all Friday. Coming up to the common room, tired from being chased by the twins and their Bludgers all practise, Harry still was feeling high until Lee directed his attention upstairs,

"Harry, Neville said there's a problem; you need to head up and check it out!"

"What happened?" Harry asked, forfeiting loosening his robes and heading upstairs first.

"Somebody ransacked your trunk!"

Harry sprinted up the stairs and dropped his things at the door. Ron and Dean were pulling the tangled bedclothes up off the floor, as Seamus tossed pillows from across the room. Neville sorted through the pile of clothes and books around the end of his bed. Harry went straight to his trunk itself and looked inside: His dress robes from Christmas were undisturbed, folded neatly at the bottom. Harry knelt and pushed Neville away from moping over every folded page in his books to start packing things back into his trunk. As he finished placing the last of his books in, he stopped and met Neville's eyes. Neville nodded slowly and whispered,

"The diary's gone."

"Ginny?" Harry mouthed.

Neville's eyes flicked to Ron and nodded.

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't seem like her."

"Harry, she hasn't been herself all year." He shook out another scarf and began to fold it, still speaking quietly. "She's not been herself at all."

"I thought it was a crush." He knew it wasn't, but he still wished…

"And her shyness around me?"

"You know about the diary."

"It was before that, even: ever since we saw her on the train." He looked up and closed the trunk. "We should tell a teacher."

Harry shook his head. "Have Hermione ask her about it. She doesn't need interrogation. She's enough of a wreck."

"Harry, if that diary did something to her –"

"Is that everything?" Dean asked.

Harry tore his gaze away from Neville and smiled. "Yeah, thanks. Thanks a lot, you guys."

Dean and Seamus waved it off and went to get their own things. Ron came over to meet them. "What were you two discussing?"

"Whether anything was missing," Harry answered before Neville could. "We haven't really settled it yet." A sharp look cut off Neville's words, and Harry turned to face Ron. "Have you got that essay for Binns done? We should probably get cracking before the game. It's not time to sleep yet."

Ron looked from Harry to Neville and then nodded, pulling out his books. When Harry turned to see what had caught his eye, Neville was already at his own trunk, fishing out a book. He frowned. He was feeling that a lot. Neville wasn't telling him something.

He brushed it off. That wasn't something new this year, though. Figuring Neville out would just have to wait.

IIII

The next day was, to quote Wood, 'perfect Quidditch conditions'. It was brilliantly sunny, and a light breeze lifted the leaves from the ground. Harry was trying to control his mixed anxiety about both the game and Hermione's report from last night. She had spoken to Ginny, but the girl had immediately spooked and broken down crying. Neville was shooting glares his way from further down the table: Harry had refused to report the diary before the match, and Neville now refused to talk to him.

Unfortunately, glaring necessitated absolutely no speech and conveyed a host of expletives with ease.

Ron was at his side with Hermione when they made their way out towards the pitch before the match. Neville trailed behind them, close enough that when Harry stopped dead, he ran into his back.

'_Kill this time… let me rip_... _tear…'_

"What in the bloody Hell?" Harry stared at the wall in shock. It was the voice he'd heard once before. There was no doubt it was the same, soft as it had been.

"What?" Neville demanded. "You stopped –"

Harry spun on him. "You heard nothing?"

"Did you say anything?"

"No, you didn't hear anything? No voice?" Harry fought off the urge to rub his shoulders. It had sounded so cold – or had it merely frightened him?

Neville scowled. "_Nothing_. Honestly, Harry…"

He blinked, suddenly hurt. If _Neville_ wasn't believing him…

"What did you hear, Harry?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"It came from … there." He gestured vaguely at the wall, feeling unaccountably small. "Cold voice, like… poison. It was talking about killing." He shrugged, biting his lip. "Probably imagined it." He knew he hadn't, but it no one else heard…

Hermione instead tapped her lip. "I'll be right back. I'm going to check the library." She turned without another word and ran off. Ron watched her go, flabbergasted.

"Hermione!" he yelled. "You'll miss the match! Oh, bollocks." He ran after her, leaving Harry and Neville alone. They both exchanged an amused look, but Neville quickly remembered he was angry with Harry and set off ahead of him.

"You're going to be late to the lockers," he pointed out quietly.

Harry yelped and raced ahead. Wood was going to kill him!

IIII

"This match has been cancelled!"

McGonagall's voice stopped Harry cold on his broom. The shouts and objections of the crowd quickly faded as Harry looked into the Gryffindor stands. His heart clenched: Neville was looking around frantically as well. Wood's dismayed voice filtered past the roaring in his ears, and McGonagall had to say his name again to snap him out of it. He looked up and found her face pitying.

"Potter, please. You will want to come with me."

Neville pelted across the pitch and caught up within the minute; McGonagall didn't order him away, but instead led them inside the castle and up the stairs.

"This will be a bit of a shock," McGonagall began as they neared the hospital wing.

Neville cut her off.

"It was Ron and Hermione, wasn't it?" McGonagall looked at him curiously. "They'd gone to the library together. They weren't back at the match when you came out. We're their best friends, so… We need to tell you something when we get in there." Neville shot Harry a dirty glare, leaving it plain what he meant to say. Harry agreed to it now.

Inside the hospital wing, three new beds were full. Harry skimmed over the tall, fifth-year girl and felt his feet turn to lead at the next two. Ron and Hermione both were laid out on a bed, eyes open and glassy. Harry went to the space between them and sank into the chair provided. McGonagall gave him a sad look.

"They were indeed all found near the library. Can either of you explain this?" She held up a small round mirror. Neville shook his head; Harry reached out, and she let him look it over. Something stirred in his memory, but it felt like there was a glass wall – everything felt unreal. Finally, he shook his head, staring at his hands.

"Very well. I should escort you back. Neville?"

"McGonagall, a while ago Ginny came to me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione with worries about a diary she'd found among her things. From what we could gather before she got hysterical, she'd been writing in it and it had been writing _back. _When we asked her about it, she said she couldn't remember. Harry checked it out later and found that a boy named Tom Riddle was writing back from it. He said he knew about the Chamber of Secrets, that he'd caught the one who opened it last time, but he was wrong. I wanted to hand it in to you, but I was overruled."

Professor McGonagall looked pale. "Harry, do you agree with what he said?"

Harry nodded vaguely, staring at where his hand rested next to Hermione's, the mirror still gripped loosely in his palm. His reflection looked empty to him – although he knew the mirror worked fine.

"I believe I would like to see this diary," McGonagall insisted. "Is it in your dorm?"

Neville looked down. "It _was_. Someone ransacked Harry's things last night and the diary was stolen. It had to have been someone from Gryffindor… It was probably Ginny, but we don't know for sure."

McGonagall pinched her nose. "I see. We'll take a look through her things, then, once I take you up there to make the announcements. Follow me, please."

Their Head of House turned and left, Neville tailing her promptly. Harry knew he should get up, but his legs didn't want to work. They were at the door before they noticed Harry hadn't followed. McGonagall came back and looked down at him; he stared back, his face blank. Finally, she rested a hand on his shoulder and forced a smile.

"Harry. You may remain here for the moment; I will send a Prefect or teacher for you after I make the announcements. Please check with Percy about the new rules when you get back to the tower. Take this time to calm down; I know this must distress you. Ask Madam Pomfrey if you need anything."

Harry nodded dully. He didn't notice when McGonagall shut the door, his hands dropping into his lap.

It was happening again. Everything was getting out of control. Part of him wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all – this wasn't supposed to happen! The teachers were supposed to take care of it! He pulled his arms around himself to try to stop shivering, but it only seemed to squeeze out the tears he was trying not to cry.

He didn't know what to do. These were his _friends_. He was a Gryffindor, he was supposed to protect them, but the last time he'd tried, he'd almost gotten killed. This time they were letting the teachers know – they'd clear it up, but if he'd turned in the diary before now this wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't have to wait for them to wake up.

It had happened much like this the first year. All that time, and his teacher could have hurt them. All that time Quirrell – and Voldemort – was waiting for his chance, and Dumbledore hadn't done anything about it. A first-year had nearly blown everything up, and now…

Well, he'd just have to do it better this time. It was in Dumbledore's hands now.

Harry used his sleeve to wipe his face clean and gently ran a hand down Hermione's and then Ron's arm. He paused, looking at the mirror again. Finally, he set it back on the bedside table and slipped out of the Hospital wing. The first door he passed on the way to Gryffindor Tower was slightly ajar, and as he walked by, someone caught him by the shoulder. Harry jumped and spun.

"Prince!" He hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

Prince reclaimed his grip on Harry's robes and dragged him into the room, pulling the door half-shut again. It only worked because Harry wasn't fighting him: Prince was still much smaller than him.

"I needed to find you. Have you heard any inexplicable voices in the hallways this year? Any at all... with no apparent source?"

Harry stared. How… "Yeah, I have. It … was talking about killing."

Prince ran his hand over his head and muttered under his breath. He turned his dark eyes back on Harry. "I heard it again today myself, just after the match was cancelled, on my way downstairs. I'm almost dead certain it was Parseltongue – Blaise didn't hear it at all."

"Neither did Ron, Neville or Hermione…" Harry whispered. "Parseltongue. Only us Parselmouth heard it. Hermione ran off to the library right after that. That's why she was caught."

Prince spat a curse. "Hermione was petrified?"

"Ron too." Harry added.

Prince shifted uneasily until he gave up and began to pace the darkness. "We're hearing a snake inside the walls. Only we are hearing – only the Parselmouths. People are being petrified. What snakes can petrify?"

"Only basilisks," Harry answered, the mirror falling into place. Prince turned to him. "I've checked every book I know," he continued. "The only other creature that can petrify are Gorgons, and they wouldn't speak such coherent Parseltongue. Unless you heard of some dark magic that could do it...?"

Prince shook his head. "Nothing this side of the world that wouldn't stink to high heaven for anyone who knew how to look – namely Dumbledore. But how are they only being petrified?"

"Indirect exposure." Harry smiled. "Hermione, Ron, and the Prefect had a round mirror with them."

"So it is. And Slytherin would have adored the 'King of Serpents.'" Prince started pacing again. "It's not a current Slytherin. Severus has checked, I have checked – everyone is accounted for during at least one of the attacks. Whoever's opening this chamber, they're from one of the other houses. Can you think of anything else?"

"No." Harry shrugged helplessly. "Hagrid said a girl died the last time in a bathroom. Someone named Myrtle. What good is that?"

"Nothing, then." He stopped. "Keep your eyes open. Keep looking."

"I'm not sticking my neck out, Prince. Why do you care what's happening? Surely the teachers can handle everything." Harry saw Prince looked unmoved. "Since when does a Slytherin take such stupid risks?"

Prince hissed. "There are things worth risking, Potter. This has nothing to do with you. Get moving; we're not supposed to be out here alone anyways. We'll be missed." He led the way to the door and looked back. "Remember, you can find me in the library most of the time."

"Of course." Harry nodded. Prince seemed to relax a little and opened the door. Harry followed and looked to find him, but the Slytherin had already disappeared into the shadowed hall.

Harry shrugged and started wending his way upstairs. He arrived as the chaos in the common room spilled out the door. McGonagall was hauling Ginny out by her arm, the girl wailing and thrashing away from her. McGonagall must have been at the end of her rope as she turned, wand raised.

"Miss Weasley! You will come along quietly, or I will be forced to bespell you! You have tried my patience far enough!"

Ginny started screaming, 'No, no, no!', but she didn't stop fighting. McGonagall silently stunned her and charmed the girl into the air, turning to stride smartly down the corridor. She frowned as she passed him.

"You were supposed to await an escort, Mr Potter. Curfew has been raised." She stared down her nose at him. "Please hurry inside and listen to the new rules and pay _heed_ to them."

Harry slipped inside the shocked common room and dropped into place at Neville's side. Percy sought him out to begin the lecture, but Harry's mind was elsewhere entirely. What should he tell Neville? Prince had much the same suspicions, but he was a Slytherin. Would Neville even believe him?

_Enough,_ he scolded himself. This wasn't his business. It was Dumbledore's. There was nothing for him to do.

IIII

Morning, however, was a bittersweet hour. It was at breakfast that McGonagall stood and announced that Dumbledore had been suspended as Headmaster, sending Harry into shock once again. Her further words – that Hagrid was also arrested – bit into his chest as only an afterthought. With Dumbledore gone, what was left? Was anything going to end up fixed, or would they just give it up as a lost cause?

He didn't think the teachers had made as much of a connection as he had. How could they? He wasn't even sure it was a basilisk himself, much less how it got around or how to trap it. How did one even try to subdue a basilisk anyways?

His stomach felt like ice, and Harry stopped eating. Neville mirrored him from the other side of the table, and with it being Sunday with no classes they both stood and left the table, Harry with a vague idea to pursue his thoughts in the library. It would take his mind off … other things.

On the way up, someone bumped into him from behind. Prince stumbled and dropped his bag, books and papers scattering everywhere.

"Watch it!" Harry snarled. The Slytherin sneered back and quickly scooped his things together. Too irate to care he was something of a friend, Harry turned to leave as Neville bent down.

"Hey!" Neville called. Prince didn't turn. Neville caught up and quietly showed Harry the paper. "He forgot this."

Harry took it and unfolded the parchment. It was cut neatly, and a message was written upon it.

'_I'm heading to the library_._ I think we overlooked something, Potter_.'

Neville looked between the parchment and him. "Since _when_?"

Harry pocketed the paper and started walking again – it wasn't like he had to change course. "Early this year, when I was avoiding Lockhart, I happened upon him in a little-used corner of the library. We just talk."

Neville closed his eyes. "And I suppose you've been brainstorming about the Chamber?"

Harry looked at him. "What else is there to talk about this year? He's how I knew it wasn't Malfoy. I trust him enough that he's telling the truth." Looking forward, Harry shrugged. "I know Snape likes and trusts him, which says something, at least."

Neville nodded, hitching his bag higher. "Fine. If you are going to start plotting, someone needs to listen, provide a voice of reason, and then fetch the teachers while you stick your neck out. Lead on."

Harry looked over at Neville, but reluctantly did as he was bidden, unwilling to start the fight to get Neville to stay behind. His best friend had been confusing him for years. Neville was always watching him, always with a thoughtful frown. Harry hadn't pinpointed why yet, but it was definitely something. As far as he could tell, Neville suspected him, but of what, he hadn't a clue. The most obvious answer was his Slytherin leanings, but how could Neville have found that out before he even acknowledged it himself?

Thinking about that wasn't important, though, so Harry shelved it to wind his way back to the corner where he usually met Prince. Neville hung back by the shelves, but Prince spotted him immediately from where he sat.

"What's Longbottom doing here?" The Slytherin was frowning, thoughtful – but not angry.

Harry shrugged deliberately. "Backup. He's scared I'll plunge into danger like last year and plans on going for the teachers as soon as he knows what we're going to do." Harry smiled weakly. "He's really keen. Let him listen."

Prince cracked a wary smile. "A pragmatic Gryffindor?"

Neville merely inclined his head, declining to sit down. "I like being in one piece. What made you bring Harry here?"

"Harry mentioned the girl who died." Alan leaned back in the chair, perfectly calm. "I asked the Bloody Baron if he knows anything about it, and he told me that there's a very easy way to find out more." He smiled. "The girl who died never left the castle. She's still here: a ghost named Moaning Myrtle."

"She's the one who died?" Harry latched on. "But, surely someone would have thought to ask her before?"

"I don't know if they did or disregarded it, but with what we know … I, at least, am going to be asking her. I thought I would just invite you to come along. There won't be too many people around the castle right now; it shouldn't be hard."

"But wait…" Harry paused. "Where is Moaning Myrtle? I don't remember seeing her around."

Prince shrugged, standing. "Oh, that's easy. She hangs out in the girl's second floor bathroom, causing a racket and putting the bathroom out of order all the time. There won't be any girls there."

"That's where the attacks were," Neville said. "The first one, with the message? The second floor."

Prince shrugged. "We're not learning anything staying here."

Harry nodded, bowing Prince out. Neville followed several feet behind them, watching their surroundings warily. Harry couldn't blame him; they were practically asking for trouble, especially with the teachers nervous about students wandering the halls alone.

It was halfway there when they had to duck into a niche – Harry and Prince behind a suit of armour, and Neville tucking himself behind a tapestry. Three teachers Harry hadn't met before were talking earnestly with McGonagall.

"–Just like that, completely impractical. How she lost track of one young girl –"

"Pomfrey is under some serious stress at this time," McGonagall insisted. "Miss Weasley has been distraught since last night – she can't have been gone long. There is nothing more to it – being missing is natural for a student in her state. The number of children who detest the hospital wing… I will go speak to her dorm mates and ask after her. I fully expect to find her up there. She is only a child –" They passed beyond hearing, up to the fourth floor.

Harry tried to avoid Prince's attention, but as they dropped down to the second floor, Prince finally asked, "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing." Harry lied. He wasn't going to tell Prince about his concerns about Ginny and the diary – Prince was the one who'd written in it and would probably hex him for putting him at risk. However, the Slytherin didn't look like he bought it, but plainly he had bigger concerns on his mind, as he let it go. Glancing back to Neville, who was trailing behind them, Harry saw his concern reflected in his brother's eyes.

Sweeping around to one side, Harry began to recognize the hallways – he'd come here much earlier in the year, and if he wasn't mistaken…

Rounding the corner brought them to the wall, lit with daylight and looking no less creepy for it. Prince pointed to the door opposite. "There's her bathroom."

"Right at the site…" Harry murmured. Neville abruptly snagged his cloak.

"Harry…"

"What–!" He turned, and wished he hadn't. The message from before still shone red on the wall. Beneath it was another message.

I CHALLENGE THE FALSE HEIR – FACE ME IF YOU DARE

"Prince?"

"I'm only here to talk to Myrtle," Prince repeated. He'd already turned, pushing open the bathroom door and stepping inside. Harry and Neville met eyes and shrugged. Clearly it didn't mean anything to the boy. Neville paused at the door, intent to remain there, but Harry came up behind Prince as he eyed the stalls. Harry edged closer, feeling inexplicably uneasy. It wasn't like it was _that_ different from the boys' bathrooms.

Admittedly, though, it was definitely creepier, but that was probably just Myrtle.

"Myrtle?" Prince called. "Would you like to talk?"

A chubby, bespectacled ghost floated from the far stall to stare at them, her eyes sliding across Prince standing in the middle of the room to Harry and Neville by the door. "You're all _boys_. What are you doing in here?"

Prince leaned back against one of the stone sinks and smiled charmingly. Harry had to force himself not to stare: it was the last expression he'd thought to see on Prince. However, it worked wonders on Myrtle.

"We were only wondering how you'd died, Myrtle. It's become _dreadfully_ important – unless you find it too terrifying?"

She lit up instantly, a big smile across her face. Completely ignoring Harry and Neville's presence, she faced Prince alone, eagerly drifting closer.

"It was _terrible_! It happened right there, in my little cubicle." She waved at the far end, from where she'd come. "I was hiding because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and then I heard somebody come in. They must have said something in a different language – I couldn't understand it – but I could tell it was a boy." She sent a distrustful glance Harry's way. "I unlocked the door to go and tell him to use his own toilet, and then –" She swelled importantly, her face shining. "I _died_."

Harry heard Neville cough; Prince looked a little startled before he leaned forward to match Myrtle's enthusiasm. "That's so _sad_, Myrtle. Was there anything else, anything at all?"

"No, not really." She sagged back, forlorn. "I just remember seeing a pair of great yellow eyes before my body seized up and I was floating away … but then I came back. I wanted to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she ever teased me about my glasses."

"Where were these eyes?" Prince asked, his interest looking natural once more.

"Somewhere over there." She waved at the end of the sinks. Prince went and began to look it over, top to bottom. Harry hesitated before following. Myrtle eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing for a time. As Prince swore and went on tiptoe to try and check the mirror, Myrtle pouted.

"What is so interesting about _that_ sink rather than me?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. Prince gave up on the mirror, turning back to staring down at the taps.

"I mean no one ever comes to visit _me_, but all year, I've had a redhead girl coming and going again and again, always back to that sink. She was in here at all hours – even this morning."

Prince froze, his hand on the tap. His black eyes turned and met Harry's, who had felt an icy grip take hold of his heart. By the closed door, Neville gasped.

"A… redheaded girl?" Harry repeated. "She was in here?"

Myrtle huffed. "Oh, she's come and gone all year. Making strange noises at my sink, crying in the corner. So _sad._ She was here all right, not long after midnight. I don't know what she was doing." Myrtle looked them all over. "Is that why you're here?" She sniffed. "Only for _her_?"

"No, Myrtle," Prince said. "We needed to talk to you, and this is very helpful. Thank you, Myrtle." His voice lost its false cheer, and he stared straight at Neville, but stopped. He turned back to the sink. "Harry, look here." He turned a tap, but no water came out.

"That tap's never worked," the ghost offered.

Harry stared at it, and suddenly saw it. "Is that a…"

"A snake," Prince said with satisfaction. "It means something."

"Well, maybe say something?"

Prince stared at him and flicked his eyes to Neville. "What can I say to a snake?"

Harry suppressed the urge to throttle him and leaned forward, staring at it. It was just a little scratched image. "Open."

Prince groaned. "English, you bastard."

"Excuse _me_." Harry stared up at him and heard the soft hissing from his own mouth. Focusing on Alan, he repeated, "Open."

The tap glowed white before the sink lurched, and Harry threw himself backwards. Prince stepped back, pulling out his wand. The stone sink sank out of sight, revealing a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Harry stared at Prince, knowing his eyes were wide with shock. Prince stared into the darkness, seemingly unaware of his audience. Finally, Harry had to break the silence.

"Well. I think we found the Chamber of Secrets." His gut felt like frozen lead, and his limbs trembled. He didn't want to die.

"What do we do, then?" Neville asked.

"I'm going in."

Both Gryffindors turned to stare at Prince. Harry finally found his voice.

"What the Hell, Prince?"

"Go. Find the teachers. Tell them where this is. But I have to go."

Harry scrambled to his feet and grabbed Prince's shoulder. "What the Hell do you have to go for? You're going to get yourself killed. I thought it was only Gryffindors who pulled such _stupid_ stunts."

Prince shook him off and glared. "I know things about this you don't, Potter. Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do."

Harry stared at him, flabbergasted. He was a _Slytherin._ What could possibly be worth a Slytherin's life? Since when was money or fame worth death?

No, Prince wouldn't go for those. What else might drive him?

The strangest thought hit him… Would he agree, if he knew what was driving Prince?

"Then I'll go with you," Harry announced. His voice sounded calmer than he felt. "Neville, go."

Neville stared between them; Harry turned to meet his eyes, and his friend only gaped back, plainly lost for words. Finally, he snapped his jaw shut.

"You're both_ crazy!_" Neville shouted. "You're gonna be grounded the rest of your bloody _life_! _Get back over here_!"

"I need to go, Neville. Find a teacher." Harry turned away, and bowed Prince to the opening. "You first?"

Prince watched past his shoulder and Harry heard Neville sprint away. Harry repeated, "We have about five to ten minutes before he finds a teacher. Get moving, Prince."

The Slytherin startled and sent him a wry smile. "Fair enough." He sat on the edge of the slide and grimaced before sending himself flying down.

Harry stared between the dark hole and the door. Prince wouldn't likely blame him for not going. Neville sure as Hell wouldn't.

_What is worth death to a Slytherin_?

Harry sat down and slid into the darkness.

* * *

A/N: ...Maybe I should just make Friday update day or something...  
Enjoy!  
Fire & Napalm


	9. Chapter 9

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Nine**:

"I almost thought you weren't going to follow."

Harry straightened from where he'd skidded to a stop and scowled at the shadow that was Prince. His skin looked white as a ghost in the darkness. The Slytherin's wand was lit in his left hand – in his right was a small gun like he'd had last year. Harry felt something both relax and twitch at the sight.

"Do kid guns really work against monsters?"

Prince stared at him. "I've got paintball rounds for this one, full of potions. My Godfather keeps getting me new ones. What do you think? Move onward?"

Harry looked into the black ahead and lit his own wand. "Yeah. Forward."

They travelled on in silence, each watching warily for any motion in the darkness. Prince waved him to stop and bent to examine something small and white on the ground. Harry kept an eye out warily until Prince hailed him. When he looked, he recoiled slightly: Prince was holding a tiny jawbone.

"Rats. Look, a bunch of rats and small vermin."

"How do you know it's rat?" Harry asked, dubious. Prince was awfully sure.

"My cousin has a rat jaw hanging around."

"Nice cousin."

Prince snickered. "He's twice my age and a journeyman Sorcerer, focusing on necromancy. I spend a lot of time with him. I sat through a bunch of his sorcerer lectures with him, the only thing that stuck was bones." He started forward again, Harry falling in behind thoughtfully.

"I thought sorcerer was just another way to say wizard."

"For some," Prince shrugged, "but for others, no. Dumbledore's a full master Sorcerer – I don't know what his focus was. Someone said his masterwork was defeating Grindelwald, but…" Prince shrugged as though he'd heard that everyday. "Who knows? They keep quiet."

"I'm sure they do." Harry's neck was still tingling from him saying 'necromancy'. "Do you get a lot of stuff like that in America?"

"In Salem, yeah." Prince slowed as they came to a sharp bend. They walked past slowly, staring down the tunnel again. Prince dropped to his knees; Harry crouched behind him.

"Prince?" he breathed.

"If anything moves, close your eyes…" Prince whispered back.

Harry had thought that obvious, but nodded anyways. Slowly, Prince crept out and beyond. Curious beyond reason, Harry stuck his head around the corner himself. Prince's circle of light was slipping up the far wall to an open space beyond, where a –

Harry pulled back against the wall, his heart racing in his chest. It was _huge_. He'd never _heard_ of snakes so, so _massive_. Prince was _insane_.

"Potter," Prince called, his tone normal. "Come on, it's just skin."

That wasn't a comforting thought. Harry stood, though, and went out to meet him where Prince was running his hand over the smooth skin, his eyes almost shining with pleasure. The creature that had shed it must be an awe-inspiring sight. The skin was many metres long, a bit ragged, but definitely conveying a matter of size. Harry thought he heard him murmur some number from where he was.

"Prince?" Harry asked cautiously.

Prince straightened, his face pink. "Sorry. We need to go. We'll have to come back for this later." He turned smartly to the far side of the space and continued further down the dark tunnel. Harry felt a rush of hysterical amusement and followed along behind him.

Prince walked as though they were in broad daylight, chasing nothing scarier than a garden snake. Harry snorted, but didn't oblige his friend with any response when he made a questioning noise. Maybe if Prince was so confident, it wasn't going to kill them. They were only second-years, true, but they weren't stupid. They were clever and keen: they knew more than they should – were plenty ahead of their year-mates…

He just hoped it was enough.

They came to a second door, locked by snakes. Prince took a breath before smiling at Harry, but he turned back to the doors to speak. Harry could see why. The guardians looked plenty alive to him.

"_Open_."

The snakes' eyes glinted, and they pulled apart, splitting to sink into the walls, revealing the chamber beyond. Harry stepped in and stopped: Prince a pace behind him.

Towering stone pillars marked the pathway into the greenish glow. The ceiling was lost in darkness; the corners shrouded on either side. Harry turned forward: if the basilisk was hiding in the corners, he didn't want to see it coming. Each column was carved with giant snakes. Harry put a hand to his chest and whispered,

"Prince?"

The other boy nodded and took the lead, his gun braced in his hands as he scanned the room. Their footsteps, soft as they were, echoed along the black walls. Harry began to sort through spells that would have some kind of effect on a great ruddy snake. He actually had a few hopefuls – he just didn't want to think on them too hard. His fingers walked over his wand – holly and phoenix feather, brother of Voldemort's, destined for great things…

Out of the darkness at the far end loomed a great statue: tall enough they had to crane their necks to see its face. Nestled against the great stone feet was a small figure in black school robes – and blazing red hair. Harry spared a look at Prince before darting over, risking a look around. He saw nothing, and he dropped to his knees beside Ginny, tucking his wand away as he took hold of her shoulder.

"Ginny," he whispered. "Ginny! Wake up; hurry, wake up!"

Harry rolled her over as he spoke. Her face was white, the skin cold and clammy. Harry tried to remember what it meant other than 'bad'. Neville was the one who remembered everything he read, not Harry. He thought she was breathing, albeit slowly. He heard Prince wandering near, but as the Slytherin eyed something by the statue's toes, another voice spoke up.

"She won't wake."

Prince spun, his wand pressed under his palm to the side of his gun. Harry turned as well, putting himself in front of Ginny.

A tall, black-haired boy leaned against a stone pillar nearby. He looked about sixteen, with a lean, handsome face. He was blurry around the edges, like an image not a person – as though Harry had forgotten his glasses for only one spot, but the boy's face was clear enough.

"What do you mean?" Prince asked. "Who are you?"

The boy eyed Prince then turned his cold blue gaze to Harry. He smiled. "Tom Riddle."

They both stiffened. Prince took a step back then bent. When he straightened, Harry saw he was holding the diary. "You're nothing but a memory." His voice lilted into a question at the end.

Riddle smiled; it wasn't a pleasant expression. "A memory stored in a diary for fifty years."

"The Heir of Slytherin, I suppose?" Prince asked idly. "Since you found your way down here."

"So is one of you, else you could not have followed." Tom looked between them, curious.

Harry was about ready to kill Prince. He looked at Ginny, running spells through his mind. He knew one to carry a person; he just couldn't remember what…

"It is nothing," Prince answered. "Just a rumour."

"And yet, you entered the Chamber. One of you is a Parselmouth, _Delorian_." Riddle pointed a finger at Harry. "Is he the one? A _Gryffindor_?"

Prince smirked. "He is not so Gryffindor. Nor is he the heir."

Riddle stared for a long time before his smile widened. "So it is you, then…"

"Sure," Prince nodded; his agreement had sounded offensively sarcastic. "But there is only one other, and he is gone. So, who then, are you?"

Tom Riddle raised his arm and wrote quickly in the air, letters of fire in the wake of his fingertip.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

He finished and waved his hand. The letters quickly scattered and reformed into a sentence.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Harry couldn't breathe as he watched the two Slytherins face each other. Neither one had stopped smiling – they hadn't even flinched. For Prince to tell that kind of a tale to his face… to _Voldemort's_ face…

The only thing worse was that, for all he knew, Prince might not be lying.

They seemed to be at an impasse, and Harry wanted this over with. "What kind of a joke is this? The Heir of Slytherin using a child to do his dirty work?"

Riddle's eyes snapped to him. "It was all I required: a simple mind, open to use. Ginny spilled all her little secrets to me, and I grew strong on them – strong enough to spill back into _her_, to overtake her weak little mind… stealing her from school and friends, releasing my basilisk, killing Hagrid's roosters that might ruin everything." Riddle shrugged. "I used what was available, boy. Or should I take a guess and say Harry Potter?"

Harry blinked. Riddle sneered.

"I know about you, boy – your eyes are a dead giveaway. She was _always_ talking about you, about the great Harry Potter she idolizes: the strong one, the Quidditch player…" He spat on the ground. "Scared of your own gift. Pathetic. And you!" He turned to Alan. "Heir of Slytherin, you claim?"

Prince grinned. Harry instantly itched to slap that smile off his face; he'd seen Prince use it once before, a cocksure grin to make everyone want to strangle him. Harry was hard-pressed not to hex him; Riddle froze.

"You die now!" he hissed, before he turned to address the statue in proper Parseltongue.

"Potter, leave the girl and move!" Prince snapped. Harry stared at him. "He can't afford to kill her! _Move_!"

Harry believed him. Grabbing his wand from his holster, he ran after Prince to the columns a short distance away. Looking around for anything, Harry finally conjured a couch cushion against the stone pillar and crouched behind it with Prince. He got a strange look from his companion.

"Pillow fights," Harry explained. "What do we do?"

Prince took a deep breath, listening to the creak of stone. "We can't fight it if we can't look at it. We have to blind it first off. Do you know anything?"

"Conjunctivitis curse?"

"Do you know it?"

"No."

"Damn." Prince began to search through his pockets and pulled out a black rectangle with brilliant green stripes. He popped a similar, pale blue one out of his gun and replaced it. "I hate shooting blind…" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Harry could appreciate it; he wasn't sure what he was doing himself, other than almost dying. Prince's hands were shaking. If he missed…

He couldn't afford to miss.

Harry heard something huge hit the ground, and he curled up against the base of the pillar. He placed his hands over his head, his forehead pressed to his knees. The sharp report of the gun shook him; it fired twice more before there was a furious hiss.

"_Kill them! Brush it off and kill them!"_

The hiss must have helped Prince; the snake shrieked again and again – it seemed every following shot, slowed by a few seconds between, connected; the furious hissing continuing even after the gun made an empty-sounding 'click'. Prince swore and moved against him, back behind the cushion. Harry glanced over at the sound of metal. Three black cases fell out of Prince's pocket, and Prince scrambled through them before selecting the purple one. Something was sliding along the floor towards them, but the gun clicked together and Prince dodged around the slumping cushion and began to fire again.

This time he heard the result; soft explosions followed the shots, and at the second shot he heard the fury of the snake. Harry crossed his fingers. Riddle screamed,

"You _stupid_ children! _Ignore the pain; smell them, kill them!"_

Prince grabbed his shoulder so quickly Harry jumped, and they took off across the chamber. Something cracked behind them; Harry risked a look and tripped over his own feet as the basilisk's head swung their way. It was dripping blood. White burns covered half its face. In a line across its brow was red flesh scalded black. One eye looked burned shut; the other was a pulped mess. Prince dragged him to his feet, and they moved onwards until they were at the next pillar and ducking behind it. Harry had to struggle to breathe.

"Nice shooting, Prince."

Prince laughed, high and thin, and then spun around. "_Reducto_!"

Harry risked a look. The snake swayed drunkenly out of the way and then sank down to move towards them. Prince brushed over his arm and ran up the gallery towards the outer door, Harry right behind. Harry heard the snake come closer and, thinking quickly, darted wide, into the centre of the room, leaving Prince behind.

The snake lunged straight towards Prince, but it had misjudged both his speed and its own. It slammed into a pillar, jaw first, and shrieked. The pillar fell ponderously, and Harry didn't see the danger until the last moment; Prince still blind to his own peril.

"_Prince_!"

The Slytherin stumbled and fell when he turned to look behind. He rolled over twice, ending up facing the pillar of rock coming towards him. Prince pulled his wand, his whole body shaking. His shouted '_Reducto_!' was not the only one in the room. Harry spared a look and found Riddle braced, holding a wand with a triumphant grin. When Harry looked back, he could only stare in horror as the top of the pillar shattered in all directions, a hailstorm of rubble. Prince had rolled over again, attempting to rise, but it did little: his head slammed into the ground as the rocks rained down on him, piling across his back and head. He didn't scream; he just went still.

Harry slowed and stopped, his chest burning. His ears were still ringing from the blast. Prince should get up, right? He should just be bruised, just winded. Why wasn't he getting up?

Movement recalled Harry's attention in time to scramble away from the basilisk's attempt on his life. It missed him by a mere foot, but Harry's mind had congealed. He had to get out of here. He wasn't going to end up dead, not like…

Someone called his name, but Harry's view had narrowed to the great snake before him.

The basilisk jerked, raising its head and spitting angrily, "_Who dares come before my master and I_?"

Harry didn't care; the open display of fangs and mouth was all he needed. The mouth of a twenty-foot snake was hard to miss.

"_Glaices_!" The white spell struck the back of its throat, and the flesh blackened and cracked, white frost shooting across the flesh. Before the spell had even struck – as the snake lunged forwards – Harry followed with two more spells. "_Reducto_! _Diffindo_!"

Harry threw himself to the side and rolled. The bright spells, so bright his vision had spotted, struck their mark, and the snake shrieked before it fell limp to the ground. Harry waited, watching for any sign of life before he breathed a cautious sigh of relief. The snake's head sank and rolled to the side. The eye burned white fluttered and the lid tore half-free. Harry froze – a sliver of bright yellow eye stared straight back at him. He waited again, unwilling to breathe, but slowly he acknowledged that nothing had happened.

It was dead. It was really dead.

"Don't you dare touch my son!"

"_You dare_."

Harry turned, his mouth dropping open. His father was standing at his side, wand held straight out at Tom Riddle where the spectre stood, his face a mask of fury. The memory was staring past James at him, but neither did he come any closer.

Harry felt his mother's hands on his shoulders, but as James sent a spell at Riddle and it passed right through him, Harry knew he had to finish this. He was the one who knew how.

He staggered to his feet and stepped forward, bending to pick up the diary. His father shouted, and Riddle snarled a spell – Harry dropped, his hand raised in defence. The spell clipped his hand, shooting pain through his fingers and knocking the diary out of his grip once more. Harry snatched it off the floor with his other hand and stepped back to the basilisk, hearing spellfire sizzle on a shield behind him. His mother shouted at him, frantic, but Harry straightened the basilisk's jaw and then trapped the diary between its teeth.

"_No_!" Riddle screamed.

The latent tension pinned the diary's cover. Harry turned to glare at Tom Riddle, his own rage mounting as he saw Prince behind him, white stone dusted over his still back as Harry's parents remained focused on the ongoing fight between Harry and Riddle.

His friend was dead or dying because of that damn diary.

Basilisk venom could destroy anything, magical or not.

Riddle brought down the shield between them in a shower of sparks and drew his wand back. Harry turned and delivered a sharp kick to the basilisk's jaw as Riddle began, "_Avada-_"

Sabre-like fangs pierced the soft leather cover. Riddle coughed.

Harry stepped back and ground his teeth, casting a blasting curse – would he just _die_ already?

The jaw snapped shut.

Riddle's scream was cut short with a strangled gasp.

Harry took a shaky step backwards, and then he was suddenly wrapped in someone's arms, his head pressed into a soft chest.

"_Harry,_" his mother sobbed. "Oh, _Harry_, what were you _thinking_?"

"Mum," he choked. "Mum, I'm... I'm sorry. But Ginny... and Prince, he's..." Harry turned to look. His eyes passed over the Marauders – who were always together, especially when family was involved – and McGonagall and Dumbledore himself. Severus was crouched rigidly at the pillar with the Headmaster, the rock on Prince's back already banished.

Harry's father finished staring at where Riddle had been and came over, touching Lily's shoulder and murmuring, "I see Ginny by the statue. Can you go check on her?"

Lily nodded and gently pushed Harry into his father's embrace. Harry didn't fight it – he put his arms around his father's back, pressing his cheek into the coarse, red fabric of his Auror uniform.

"It's okay, Harry." James stroked his hair. "It's going to be okay. You're fine; you're safe now."

"What's gonna happen to Prince?" Harry had to ask. "He – he died." Harry shuddered, and then he pulled free. He had to go see. James didn't let go of his shoulders right away, but walked with him around the basilisk's head and towards the pillar where Severus and Dumbledore crouched by Prince's prone form on the ground. Harry crouched where he could see Prince's head and quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

Prince was without any sign of life save for his eyes shifting fitfully beneath his eyelids. A small drip of blood trickled from his mouth to form the small, shining pool he'd seen. Severus quickly stood and pulled Harry to his feet. He thrust him back into his father's arms.

"Enough, Potter! Keep your son away from this."

Harry wrapped his arms around his father again as he whimpered. He didn't know what he'd seen, but it scared him far worse than anything that had happened so far. The sight of the soft trickle of blood was etched in his eyes, so raw… His breath quickened, fast and shallow. His chest felt tight, and he couldn't remember to blink. His face was pinned between large, warm hands he knew, and his father's hazel eyes were suddenly directly in front of his own.

"Harry, breathe. Take a slow, deep breath."

It hurt, but his chest expanded as commanded.

"Let it go. Take it slow; breathe out again… Now breathe in once more. You with me, Harry?" Harry nodded obediently. "Good boy. It's okay, Harry; it's going to be okay." There was a pop behind them. "Prince is with the Healers now. They're going to take care of him. We'll go up in a moment, okay?"

Harry nodded slowly and then closed his eyes to stifle tears. He couldn't cry. His father stood and pulled him against his chest.

"You're a very brave boy, Harry. You're just so brave. It's going to be all right, you'll see. It's all going to be all right. Ginny's safe, you're safe. Just breathe, Harry. Just breathe."

Harry began to shake softly, whimpers turning into soft sobs. He was scared. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. But what could he do? Would the adults have done any better than him and Prince? It was so dangerous – and he'd ended up doing it alone, or nearly alone. Two second-years, doing what their parents, their teachers, or the Ministry should have done…

He might be safe, but Prince wasn't.

IIII

Each of the rescuers had been given a Portkey of their own; James activated his to bring Harry to the hospital wing. His wife brought Ginny. The rest were staying to check out the mythical chamber more thoroughly, to ensure there were no other dangers and if there was any other lore.

Immediately, he saw the chaos reigning at the Slytherin boy's side. Severus and Pomfrey were moving quickly between him and the racks of potions. James pulled his son's head close to his chest. Harry didn't need to see this – he was fretting enough as it was. That his son had defeated a basilisk, practically alone, and then that boy, that man… Whatever it was. He shivered merely thinking about it, the prospect almost terrifying him. What a ridiculous move! Why had Harry done it?

James stopped his thoughts and stroked Harry's hair. He wouldn't ask him, not yet. Harry deserved a chance to calm down before he was interrogated. Any boy – any _man_ would be fretful if their companion in adventuring was severely injured. James had felt sick himself after seeing Prince's injuries.

Dumbledore finally straightened from the fire he'd had his head in since they entered and ignored the angry glares of Pomfrey and Snape. James hadn't arrived in time to hear why.

Nearly a minute later the fire flared and a tall black-haired man ducked out of the fireplace. He swept his blue eyes across the room and focused on the boy lying prone in the hospital bed.

"How, exactly, was he injured, Albus?" the man demanded. James immediately didn't like him; the bone necklace he wore wasn't helping matters any. It had some small animal's jawbone hanging off the beads that looked like bone as well. The stranger pulled a jar of cream from a pouch at his side and swiped it over his eyelids. "Anyone?"

"We were going after someone saying they were the Heir of Slytherin," Harry spoke up. "They had a basilisk, twenty feet long. It knocked a pillar over, and when Alan tried to blow it away, it…didn't. He just got blasted too."

The man swore and wiped the cream off again. "He wasn't poisoned?"

"No," Snape confirmed, black eyes boring into the man. "Now either start helping, or back the Hell off."

"How well is he healing?"

"Reasonably," Pomfrey snapped. "The bones are healing slowly but well, but I haven't ascertained if there's bleeding in his brain." James felt Harry wince. "His lungs were punctured and bruised and they have healed fully, and so did his ribs, but a lot delicate tissue took a beating. His spinal cord is damaged near his sacrum and the base of his skull. So far he's still paralysed."

Harry burrowed his face into James' shoulder, shaking with tears. James glared. Harry had _not_ needed to hear that, and Pomfrey – James shook himself. Pomfrey was worried sick. Not being able to heal so much would be eating at her; James had rarely heard of Aurors suffering so much damage, much less children. A fair half of those he knew of had healed. The rest…

James sighed and went back to stroking his son's hair.

"I have the potion here myself," the dark-haired stranger said. James looked up, tuning back into the conversation. It seemed he had missed little, but a very important part. "It is the only way he'll heal."

"Preposterous!" Pomfrey shouted. "What you propose will kill him quicker than save him! It would take an _astounding_ wizard to heal so much damage themselves! You're expecting a child to do it – Are you Americans _insane_?"

"I happen to know several who _are_ insane, madam, and I am _not_ one of them," he answered dryly. "You know very well how much magic it would take to heal that, and you yourself cannot heal very much of his delicate tissue – his nerves, his brain – yourself. The potion includes the blueprint of proper healing, it has been tested successfully several times over five years, and this is a _twelve-year-old child_. What kind of life would he have if the damage is not healed?" He glanced around, and his eyes locked on James. He grimaced and pulled another bottle out of his bag. "Sir," he addressed him, "give your damn son a dreamless sleep already. He doesn't need to see this."

Pomfrey snatched the phial out of his hands and thrust it back into his chest. "My potions are more than good enough for my own students, sir!" She stalked to her shelf and seized a blue phial, then threw it without ceremony to James. James caught it and stood with his son. "Half that phial only, Mr Potter!"

James nodded and moved his silent boy to the bed. He smiled at Harry's drawn face. "It's okay, Harry. You know how good Pomfrey is; she'll make the right choice."

Harry nodded innocently, his face pale.

James conjured a glass and poured out half the phial before handing it to his son. Harry drank it quickly and lowered himself back on the bed, reflexively turning away from him in the bed. James sat forward, gently grabbing his shoulder and kissing his brow.

"Sleep well, Harry. Prince will be just fine."

Harry nodded weakly, his eyes already closing. He whispered at the last, "S'my fault…"

"It wasn't." James frowned, his son already asleep. He'd talk to him about it after. For now, he had other things on his mind.

Slipping out of the curtains, James was surprised to find the black-haired man still standing in the middle of the circle of suspicion from Pomfrey, Snape, and Dumbledore. The man nodded congenially to him, and asked,

"Your boy is asleep?"

"Yes." James nodded. "Thank you."

"You should have done that when you arrived." James bristled, but the man had already moved on. "I am a Journeyman Sorcerer – ask your own Headmaster what that means – and I know how much the human body can take, as it was my focus. Alan is in danger of permanent damage if nothing is done. Right now, I'd say his chances of full recovery are around forty percent." He produced a small phial. "I have a potion that will reroute his magic to heal his tissue himself."

"It would take a ridiculously powerful child to succeed," Snape sneered.

"Alan is a 'ridiculously powerful child', Severus, as you well know," The American repeated as though it were obvious. "At least as powerful – if not more so – than the boy sleeping across the room." James jumped. His son 'ridiculously powerful'? That was news to him. "It would flip the odds in Alan's favour –"

"And if it doesn't work, it will kill him." Pomfrey snapped. "Would you do that to your _own_ child?"

She received a cold stare. "Alan is my _cousin_. I practically _raised him_ since he was a toddler, and I care for my idiot brothers as well. I think I have a thorough grounding in being able to care for the boy, thank you _very_ much. I also have an understanding in how well he will react to being paralysed, which is where he is headed so far. It would destroy him."

Pomfrey made an angry sound that resembled '_Quidditch'_. James felt she didn't understand where the man was coming from; James believed him. Harry wouldn't react well to paralysis, he knew, but what were his odds of surviving? Even sixty percent didn't seem very favourable…

"And it has nothing to do with Quidditch." His blue eyes flicked to James, and he clarified, "Or Quodpot."

It was so strange for the stranger to have blue eyes. James really thought black would fit him better.

"Do you have the authority to make this decision?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes. My mother knows of the danger, as does his Godfather." The man looked around the room at those present and turned to Dumbledore. James thought he saw Dumbledore nod faintly. "If that is everything?"

"I believe it is only his _immediate_ family that one need concern yourself with?" Snape asked stiffly. "Play your little games, then." The Potions Master turned and stormed out of the room.

The stranger nodded and uncorked the phial. "He will need a week to heal properly. I, or one of my family, will remain with him at all times." He turned and, tipping Prince's head back, administered the crystal green potion. The boy's face contorted, and he tried to turn away, but his cousin gripped his jaw until the phial was empty and the Slytherin had swallowed. His body gave a long shiver before falling still. The man relaxed to sitting on the cot, his hand sliding to the boy's shoulder, ignoring the people behind him.

James was watching in mild horror until Dumbledore ushered him further away. He looked a question at the Headmaster.

"I will need to speak to your son about exactly what happened when he wakes. Will you bring him?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes." James nodded. He turned back to look at the stranger on Prince's bed. "Sir, who…"

"Louis Quintelyuv." Dumbledore nodded. "Alan Prince's first cousin, the youngest of his aunt's triplets. He is powerful, and yes, he has the authority to administer any potions he feels necessary for Prince's well-being. Philana has placed her confidence in him." Dumbledore interpreted his stare correctly and elaborated. "His expertise lies in manipulating the body's processes. Sorcerer is a catchall for the more refined use of magic in varying disciplines."

James blinked again, feeling that didn't really explain all that much. "And what if he chooses wrong?"

Dumbledore glanced aside and finally met his eyes once more, the sorrow in them plain. "Then Alan will die. This is an option with only two outcomes, James. Either Alan Prince will heal completely, or his own magic will kill him."

IIII

Harry let his head sink into his hands at the dinner table. It was Saturday, the Hall was crowded, and seated across from Neville and Ginny, Harry's thoughts were miles away.

Prince was still unconscious. Harry had woken and told Dumbledore his story, his mind wandering to Prince constantly out of worry. He had been wringing his hands – actually wringing his hands – unable to keep his mind off it. He'd been worried they'd see right through him, but neither his father nor Headmaster Dumbledore had called him on it. They'd scolded him lightly for taking the risk, but in the end, Dumbledore gave him fifty points for defending a classmate and sent him downstairs to be harassed by the student body. He'd been avoiding everyone with the help of the older Weasleys and Neville ever since.

Two days ago he'd tried breaking into the hospital wing. He'd gotten all the way inside, but…

"_What are you looking for, child?"_

_The tall, dark-haired man who'd come for Prince stared down at him, his blue eyes curious rather than aggressive – so much like Prince. Harry had frozen, unable to react._

"_If you're worried about him, come back later, please. He'll wake soon enough; probably at the end of the week."_

He hadn't given him any other scolding or anything. Just dismissed him. Harry had been grateful for the lack of fuss, but Prince was still out cold. Harry sank down onto his arms and sighed. Neville looked at him worriedly, but said nothing. He'd already tried to lift Harry's spirits. He'd had better luck with Ginny.

"Mr Potter?"

Harry looked up at McGonagall, mildly curious. Her eyes were soft. "Yes, Professor?" He hoped it wasn't about his performance in class – it was effectively nada.

"The Headmaster asked me to inform you that Alan Prince has awoken and is doing fine." She smiled thinly. "You need not fret about his health anymore. He will assuredly make a full recovery."

Harry found he did have a smile in him after all. "Thank you."

She nodded and slipped off. Neville ventured a smile himself, and Harry met him with his own. He found he had his appetite back.

He'd be tired later that night if he didn't eat, after all… No, tomorrow night. He needed to get a night's rest for once this week. Hiding in the library wasn't going to change anything now. He had questions he wanted answered, and Prince was finally awake - alive! - to answer them.

IIII

Under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry eased open the Hospital Wing doors. He repeated to himself what he would say if Prince's guardian challenged him, but nobody was standing around. As he neared Prince's bed, Harry saw someone in the bed next to Prince. It wasn't the tall, dark man of before. The man was much slighter, build-wise, with shoulder-length mottled blond hair and a rounder, softer face. He was sprawled so far he was half-off the bed, and Harry couldn't imagine how he was comfortable doing that. Either way…

Prince appeared to be asleep until Harry slid the cloak from his head. Light reflected off dark eyes as they widened, and Prince slowly sat up. Yawning, rubbing gently at his eyes, he smiled.

"I thought it might be you. I couldn't see your cloak, but the door did open…"

"It's an invisibility cloak." Harry sniffed. "Of course you couldn't see it."

Prince shrugged. "Some you can, if you know how to look." He patted the bed. "Go ahead, Green won't wake anytime soon, not even if we talk normally – although Pomfrey might."

Harry pulled up a seat and smiled. Prince smiled back, the expression making him look lively even in the darkness. Harry was grateful; he'd not been able to control his worry all week, no matter what books he delved into.

"Are you okay, Prince?"

"Yeah, I'm doing great. Louis knows what he's doing."

"I overheard them say the potion he used might kill you."

"Louis wouldn't let me die. C'mon, Potter, he's a necromancer."

Harry blinked. "That was Louis, the dark-haired man?"

"Yep, rat jaw and all. I know he looks really scary. Green, there, is his brother. Potions Master."

"A Potions Master?" Harry looked again. "How old is he?"

"Twenty-eight. Same as Louis and Amaranth. They're triplets."

"They look nothing alike."

"Their father played around a bit with their make-up." Prince shrugged. "It's why they're a little crazy. Well," he stared at the ceiling, "Green's kind of a lot crazy. Louis is the most stable."

"And he's a necromancer." Harry stared back.

"Never mind that." Prince grinned. "How's the school reacting to us two upstarts defeating the giant snake?"

Harry looked down at the blanket and sighed. "Dumbledore made the announcement to the school. I've been hiding with the Weasley twins to avoid being questioned – I told Percy everything, so he's telling everyone what happened. They just know we went down – supposedly after Ginny – and that we killed the snake, and you got hurt. A few people think you died, and they're just being nice; a few others are trying to paint you as the culprit, and others still…" Harry shrugged expansively. Prince made an understanding noise.

"Did they find out who was behind it?"

"Apparently it was Lucius who planted the diary, but nothing can be proven with it destroyed. You know about that?"

"Dumbledore filled me in," Prince nodded, "when he decided to question me extensively on what I was doing there."

"I just told him I was following you." Harry met his eyes. "What were you doing?"

Prince tilted his head, curious. "Did you believe me, down there?"

"Believe you?" Harry blinked again. Did he? "About being the Heir of Slytherin?" Prince nodded. "Why should I? And why should I care?"

"Because if I'm so arrogant as to believe I should risk my life for it, why do you care about me anyways?" Prince returned.

"Because you're not like that."

"Then why did I go down?"

"What was worth death to a Slytherin?"

Prince froze and blinked. They held a long silence, before Prince softly asked, "Was that why you followed me? Because you want to know what is a Slytherin?"

"The Hat told you, didn't it?"

Prince nodded slowly. "I'd've been sorted as fast as Malfoy if it hadn't taken the time to tell me. The Slytherin Harry Potter." He smirked. "And we were supposed to be friends."

"Yeah, we started off on the right foot there."

Prince quickly covered his mouth as he doubled over with mirth. The muffled noise seemed sure to wake the sleeping man, but he hardly even stirred. After straightening twice and doubling over again both times, Prince finally stayed down and asked,

"Do you really care that much?"

Harry paused. "Yes. Because trying to be Gryffindor is what nearly killed me last year."

"Really?" Prince ran his hand over his hair and smiled faintly. "Why? What did you really face down there?"

"What do you think it was?" He didn't want to answer his first question.

"A few people claim you faced Voldemort."

Harry felt it was strange the boy didn't flinch from the name. Most everyone he knew, Ron, even Neville at least twitched when it was mentioned – Neville avoided using it with various insulting monikers, but never his true name. Prince hadn't even hesitated.

Maybe that was why he answered. "Yes. Professor Quirrell had been possessed by Voldemort."

Prince nodded slowly, and his eyes made it clear he'd noticed Harry's dodge. Before he could ask the question, Harry cut in.

"I looked up the Prince family."

"What did you find?" The boy's shoulders had tensed.

"The last Prince was a woman named Eileen Prince. She married a muggle man." Harry watched him. "Tobias Snape. Their only child was Severus Snape."

Prince nodded slowly. "My mother thought the name Prince was … better suited. She wasn't exactly sure who my father was."

"Looking at you now, it isn't hard once I think about it." Harry frowned. "Who was your mother?"

Prince glared at him. "It's none of your business, Potter."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not telling you."

Harry heard the iron in his voice and changed his question. "Why were you raised by your aunt, then?"

"Because my father didn't know I existed, and my mother didn't want him told. She instructed my godfather to take me to her sister, and that was it till I came here."

Harry moved on. "The Princes weren't called the Heirs of Slytherin, though."

"No, it's through my maternal grandmother – the Calloughs. They weren't a strong line, but they were Parselmouths – maybe that's all they were. They'd moved to France, so hardly anyone knew about them, anyways. My… mother was the daughter of a Greek widower named Adamidis. My aunt was my mother's half-sister." He shrugged. "She wasn't much of a witch, my mother."

"What was your life like?"

Prince stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're so …" Harry struggled for a word. "Different."

"Potter," Prince grinned, "you're just not used to a non-indoctrinated Slytherin. You're as bad as Blaise. He doesn't know what to do with me, either."

Harry grimaced. "Stop calling it that."

"What, you mean the House indoctrination you all have? You suffer from it too; you said it yourself. Being 'Gryffindor' is what almost got you killed – you outright blamed your House for your fall."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Tell me, what _did_ you mean?" Harry stared at him, but Alan was unmoved. "Can you tell me why you're so against Slytherin, while you're at it?"

"That's nonsense!"

Prince grinned triumphantly.

Harry growled under his breath. "You just don't _get_ it."

"Try to explain to me, then. Enlighten me."

If he could have been more insulting, Harry would have hit him. As it was, he only didn't because Prince was right: he didn't have an answer. "Prince … if… It's like a rule, here. If you're in a House, you are that House. It's as simple as that."

"No it isn't."

"Try telling my dad that, then!" Harry spat. "He hated me just because I was a Parselmouth, even though I've tried and tried to be what he wants! But I'm _not_; I'm _not_ a Gryffindor. A Gryffindor is just going to end up killed! If they aren't, then they bloody well survived by the skin of their teeth!"

Prince straightened abruptly. "Potter, are you _scared_?"

Harry flushed. "No!"

"You _are_." Prince stared. "I don't get it, what's so damn scary?"

"You wouldn't understand. It's not like _you've_ ever had anyone to disappoint."

"That's a low blow, Potter," Prince growled. "Just because my family isn't immediate doesn't change that I care about them, and them for me. What, is your father going to blow his stack if his son isn't a perfect little Gryffindor?"

Harry couldn't stop his flinch. Prince rocked back.

"You _are_. Hell, what made you so –" He stopped. "Potter, did you… You ran into a _B__oggart_."

Harry flushed. "How the Hell do you do that, Prince?"

"It was the only thing…" Prince murmured. "You do realize how irrational the fears a Boggart reflects are?"

"It's not so irrational when he's bloody well done it before!" Harry snapped. He trembled, remembering the harsh sound of his father's voice, screaming at him for being a disgrace and a traitor. It wasn't the first time he'd heard the words, even though they hadn't been directed at him. "I haven't lived with people who see you can wield a wand and call you a brother on the spot."

Prince closed his mouth tight and stared at him for a long time. Harry shifted awkwardly, waiting for him to speak. Prince's expression was almost unreadable.

"Harry…" He began, startling him. "I face a Boggart and see my godfather dead. It's not real, no, nor even illogical – it's possible, but not probable. Your father's response is the same kind of thing. Do you really think he could hate something more than he loves his son?"

Harry stared at him for a long moment. Prince's words made sense. He _didn't_ think his father hated Slytherins so much – his hand drifted to the pendant. The pewter serpent he was still wearing. His father didn't hate anything more than he loved him, it was just… he didn't want to be yelled at…

"Hey," Prince spoke up. Harry looked, and found him holding out his hand. "Call me Alan."

Harry blinked. Did he just…?

Was it out of line? Technically, they were friends, after all. He'd cried when he'd thought Prince was dead, moped while missing him – he'd reacted the same way when Neville had knocked himself out on a tree when they were nine and been bedridden for two days. It had been a lot worse, with the severity of Pr – Alan's injuries.

And it was a lot of fun talking with him. He was smart, brilliant even – although he felt a little hesitant. Did he _really_ need three bloody brilliant friends?

But Neville and Hermione weren't the same. They weren't competition.

Harry tasted that thought again and smiled.

"Then call me Harry."

IIII

Later that week, Harry was delighted to see Alan returning to the student body as well, with his own forty points – presumably because he had self-serving interests in going down, rather than Harry's 'selfless' goal. Stubbornly, Harry brushed it off, but instead found himself smiling for several days. However, by the end of the week, anxiety had set in.

He was friends with the last person on earth his father would approve of: Severus Snape's Slytherin son. He tried to distract himself, but Neville was nearly as despondent as he was, sick with worry over Ron and Hermione. The only other thing that drew his attention was the last thing he needed: Lockhart.

The man was prancing around the school as though getting rid of the monster was entirely due to him and his teaching. He had slapped Harry on the back twice now, congratulating him on putting his teaching to good work. Harry was hard-pressed not to curse him. He couldn't think how to make it seem acceptable. Outright attacking a teacher wouldn't go over well.

Finally, in the fretful atmosphere of students finding themselves forced to study for exams hardly anyone had thought about, Harry found refuge with Alan in the back of the library and unloaded his disgust with their teacher on his friend.

Alan tapped his finger to his lips and idly asked, "Is this something you're trying to distract yourself with?"

"Well," Harry spat, "unless you know how to be friends without appearing to be friends, I've got not clue how to befriend the son of my father's rival from school and have him be okay with it. Other than that –"

Alan dropped his chair back to four legs and grinned. "Harry, that fixes everything! We'll be rivals!"

Harry eyed him. "I thought we already were."

"Step it up a notch. Spell-fights and insults." Alan grinned. "You can practise being an asshole and meet in secret later on, at different times here in the library."

"And if we fail?"

"Well," Alan raised his eyebrow, "you'll deal now, won't you?"

Harry glared. "I won't fail. What about you? Can you keep it up?"

Alan grinned lazily. "Potter, I'll lose all my credibility in Slytherin if I can't keep up a charade with a petty Gryffindor."

"We'll see about that." Harry smirked, and then brightened, insanely curious. "How are we going to do it? I already told Neville I was your friend, of a sort. At least because of Lockhart."

Alan shrugged, his eyes glittering. "Kill two birds with one stone, then. Just make sure you know how to argue back. And be ready for a detention or two."

Harry leaned his chair back on two legs. "Bloody Hell, Alan, you want to have wussy fights or something? I swear, my dad got a detention a week without half this good an excuse."

"Be careful what you wish for, Potter… You just might get it."

IIII

The weekend rolled past before Alan found time to launch his surprise. Harry had been on tenterhooks, drawing Neville's eye for a while. He finally quietly admitted it was Prince who was bothering him – he hadn't been talking to him. Since Neville knew he'd been friends with him, or thought he was, Harry hoped it would set up his acceptance of the explosion to come.

A week to the day from when Alan had returned to school, and when Lockhart tried to corner Harry again and be cheerful, Harry was suddenly hailed with a shout.

"Hey, Potter!"

Lockhart stepped aside, looking between the two 'school heroes'. Harry met Alan's charge with a frown.

"What, Prince?"

"Don't get me mixed up defending your _girlfriend_ next time," he spat. "I'm not putting my life on the line for you again!"

"Hey! That's unfair!" Harry stepped forward, glaring. "It was your damn choice to try and fix it yourself! You're lucky you dragged me into it."

"Like I need help from a stupid Gryffindor!"

Harry threw the first curse. He missed spectacularly and had to dodge Alan's return spell. Harry retaliated in kind, another hex, and Lockhart, in a show of stupidity, played right into their hands: he stepped between them to try and break their fight up.

Needless to say, the man didn't come out on top. He was solidly trounced by two stubborn second-years who wouldn't stop, and several other students added their own hexes to the array. The fight wasn't stopped until McGonagall stepped in, and just in time. Nobody had noticed whom, but one of the curses wasn't so innocuous. Lockhart was gasping for breath and turning blue.

The Deputy Headmistress ordered them both to her office and hurried Lockhart off to the Hospital Wing. Harry stared around the crowd, trying to think why someone had done that. He hadn't used any spells of the like, and meeting Alan's gaze told him he hadn't either. But who would do that to Lockhart?

He hadn't thought anyone had been so mad as to try and kill him.

They both were exonerated on the fact: they admittedly quickly to the appearance of their fight, Alan setting the groundwork by repeatedly insulting him while Harry tried to look dismayed and put down. Professor McGonagall sent Alan out to report to his Head of House for punishment, and then turned to Harry.

"What was this, Potter?" she asked. "I believe it was only two weeks ago you worked with him to save the school, and now you end up at each other's throats?"

"I didn't do anything," Harry mumbled, not needing much help to act sheepish. "Maybe he just got scared when he nearly… nearly died."

McGonagall nodded slowly. "Very true. It can be a frightening experience, and I'm sorry you lost a friend. However, it does not excuse your very dangerous fight this evening. Two days detention, Mr Potter, with Hagrid." Harry ducked his head to hide his smile. McGonagall did not miss it. "Off with you, Potter."

Harry paused in the door. "Professor McGonagall, when will the mandrakes be ready?"

"Professor Sprout reckons it should be within the week, Potter." She smiled. "You will soon have your friends back. Try to… curb the enthusiasm you feel – and don't take it out on any undeserving teachers."

Harry left, trying not to think about what she was suggesting. If she'd just given him leeway to attack Lockhart again, he was going to have to eat his hat. After all, he didn't doubt the 'undeserving' was purposeful.

Maybe Neville would help.

* * *

A/N: And the end of Second Year...  
I remembered! I feel very special now.

I may or may not start Third Year in two weeks. Seems likely; waiting longer is a recipe for disaster, I expect. Toodlepip!

Fire & Napalm


	10. Chapter 10

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Ten:**

Harry kicked his feet up in the rare space one got on the Hogwarts Express during that short time when his friends were all elsewhere or preparing to arrive. He had excused himself from his family for the time being, ostensibly because of Nanna's vicious pouting, which wasn't too untrue. His sister was furious – still – that her November birthday was keeping her from attending Hogwarts with Neville's sister, who was born in March and currently starting her first year. But the full reason he now removed from his jacket and flipped open.

It was a letter from Alan.

Harry smiled, glanced at the compartment door again and began to read. Several minutes later, the door rattled and slid open. Harry jumped, folding the letter quickly and stuffing it in his pocket. He looked up.

"What was that, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"A letter." Harry flushed, knowing he'd already made a mistake. "None of your business, really; just a note."

Hermione smiled wryly and shook her head. "Would you help me with my trunk, please? We just got here. Are Neville and Ron here yet?"

"You see them in this compartment?" Harry asked, laughing. "No problem."

Or so he thought. It took them both to haul Hermione's trunk in and up into the overhead area; once he'd fallen back into the seats, he asked if she was packing bricks. He was spared her cuffing him again by the arrival of Neville and Ron. Harry was mildly worried she'd tease him about the letter or something, but Hermione seemed to have forgotten it completely. Whatever her reason, she didn't bring it up.

She did, however, pull a carrier from the seat next to her that Harry hadn't seen when she'd first come in. The wicker basket twitched and then sprang open when she released the front. Ron nearly fell out of his seat.

"What's _that_?"

Hermione slapped his leg. "_Ron_! He's Crookshanks! He's my familiar; my parents finally let me get myself a pet."

Harry stifled a laugh. 'Crookshanks' indeed was a bandy-legged cat, and his face was compressed as though from running into a barn door; shaggy orange fur covered him from top to toe, and he had a tufted tail.

"Cat, or kneazle?" Neville asked.

Hermione halted her argument with Ron. "What?"

"Is he part kneazle?" Neville gripped his tail lightly to display the excess tuft on the end. "Sometimes the two interbreed."

"The pet shop owner never said." Hermione pursed her lips. "If I'd been able to get that book open, it might have told me, but whoever set us 'The Monster Book of Monsters' was having a bad day."

Harry struggled to control his smirk. "All you have to do is stroke the spine."

Hermione stared at him. So did Ron.

"What?" she asked.

"Stroke the spine," Harry repeated. "The book calms right down. Admittedly, you're going to want to keep it tied shut at most other times, but it works out."

"It took him four days of playing with the damn thing to figure it out," Neville added. "And he got bit at least eight times."

Harry shrugged. "That's why my mother's good at basic healing spells. I at least verified it wasn't poisonous."

"Yeah, the _hard_ way."

Harry still shrugged, smiling at him. Hermione huffed and eyed her trunk.

"And no," Harry quickly answered, "there's not an article on kneazles in there. You'd find that in Scamander's Guide – I've got it … somewhere."

Standing, Harry fished out the book and lost it to Hermione for the next two hours while he, Neville, and Ron took up a game of Exploding Snap. Ron asked, with typical brotherly instincts, where Ginny and Melanie were. Neville told him, rather rudely, that they were hanging out somewhere that wasn't his concern. Ron's outrage made him lose the hand, much to Harry's delight, but the redhead got over it quickly.

It was sometime after the trolley witch had gone by that an argument broke out in the corridor. After the yelling distracted even Hermione from her reading, Harry rolled his eyes and stuck his head out. He instantly felt a thrill of excitement.

"Oh, not _you_. Go _away,_ Potter!"

Harry stepped into the corridor. "What are you making a racket for, Prince?"

Ron joined him, and now there were seven people present. Alan and Zabini were at the far end, their compartment open, facing Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, who looked none-too-happy to be sandwiched between the two groups. Even Malfoy went slightly pale: it seemed he hadn't forgotten what they'd repeatedly done to Lockhart before school finished last year, driving the man to resign in the end.

"You really have to put up with a lot of them, don't you?" Zabini commented. "You take a few fine purebloods and give them the backup of the Weasleys, and suddenly there's a full-blown army."

"I don't need backup, Zabini," Harry growled. "That's only something your black widow of a mother bothers to worry about."

"Well," he grinned, "at least a black widow has more elegance than the Weasley cow. Say, Ronnie, is your sister aspiring to be just as pretty as her mother or is she also going to need an escort to find anything actually worth wearing?"

Harry and Ron had their wands ready, spells on their lips moments before the door at the end of the corridor burst open.

"Stop that right now!" Percy shouted. "Ron, put your wand away! You too, Potter!"

"Not until theirs are," Harry snarled.

"Boys!" a female Prefect ordered. "Wands up, or I'll speak to one of your Prefects!"

Malfoy grumbled, "Or just her damn brother." His hand moved away from his wand, however, and he slid up against the wall. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Good," the same girl answered. Harry was still watching for Zabini to put away his wand, and he finally did when Alan slapped his wrist – Alan hadn't even touched his wand.

"What were you thinking?" Percy shouted again. "No fighting on the Hogwarts Express! You should be ashamed! All of you, back to your compartments, and I'll be speaking to your Heads of House."

Harry could see Zabini making small mocking motions with his hands. It looked very much like Percy was the target. Harry didn't blame them: he'd been insufferable all summer.

Alan and Zabini slipped back into their compartment, letting Malfoy and his bookends leave the hall. Once out of sight, Harry turned in time to see Percy incline his head grandly at the female Prefect who'd helped him.

"Thank you, Carmine, for your timely aid."

"No problem, Bighead Boy." She grinned.

Percy turned bright red. The Prefect – Gryffindor, both by her badge and because Harry had seen her a few times before – saluted them and left, curly dark hair bouncing behind her as Percy finally recovered his dignity. Harry ushered Ron into the compartment and sat down before he started laughing.

"I didn't think it was that funny." Hermione sniffed.

"You didn't see why she called him 'Bighead Boy'." Harry snickered. "It looks like the twins got a hold of his badge and he hasn't yet noticed."

IIII

Harry rode with Neville, Ron, and Hermione in the carriages on the way up – ignoring, as usual, Neville's odd look at the lack of horses – but when they came to the front hall, Hermione was pulled away by McGonagall to talk about something. Harry just shrugged at Neville and Ron's curious looks, leading the way to sitting down through the Sorting.

Hermione arrived nearly ten minutes late. "What did I miss?" she panted.

Neville grandly indicated Melanie, sitting with Ginny at the far end of their group. Hermione pouted, but her face was still flushed and happy. Harry wanted to ask, but she was already giving Neville's curious look a similarly tight-lipped smile.

She wouldn't allow them to weasel it out of her at all during the entire feast; it wasn't until it was nearing the end of dessert that they got the chance to even say anything exciting. She turned to look up at the table.

"Oh, we have our new Defence teacher!" She pointed to the far end, where a pale, sickly man sat talking with Professor Flitwick. His face was quite pale, and his hair a tousled dirty blond.

Harry didn't have to wait for the introduction to know who he was. He'd been smiling all through the feast since he'd first seen him.

"Remus Lupin," he said with satisfaction.

"You know him?" Hermione asked.

"He's one of my dad's best friends. He would have taken the post last year, but that trouble with Peter sprang up and he got carried away somewhere else." Harry smiled faintly, wondering why he was there. If he remembered correctly, it had been the full moon last night. Remus would be exhausted, and yet he was still present for the feast.

"Is he good?"

Harry grinned at her. "Very."

Hermione squeaked, watching the staff table intently. Harry hoped she didn't end up with another crush on their Defence teacher. Although, Remus was _definitely_ a step up from Lockhart…

IIII

The next morning, Harry and his friends were all grinning.

"Hagrid!" Ron repeated once more. "Hagrid, as our teacher! This is crazy; what kind of lessons will he teach? Are we going to end up eaten?"

"Nonsense!" Harry laughed.

"Our book already tried!" Despite his pessimistic words, Ron was still looking excited.

"Dumbledore will keep him to things that won't kill us, Ron. Even Hagrid isn't that stupid; he's just a little thick. Anything he brings in, he, at least, can take care of."

Ron still gave him a nervous look. "I'm hiding behind you during his classes."

Harry just shrugged, hailing the twins. They sat down, and the two redheaded terrors grinned at them.

"Third-year timetables." They handed them over – surprisingly unhexed – and Harry flipped his open and hollered.

"Two new classes! Great!"

"And then a nap." Neville grinned. "Sounds damn good to me. What have you got?" Neville smiled at Hermione.

"Hermione, someone made a mistake," Ron argued. "You're signed up for about ten classes a day."

She tugged her paper away from Ron and glared. "My timetable is fine. I worked it out with McGonagall."

"But you have Divination _and_ Arithmancy this morning! They're both at nine! How're you going to do that? You can't be in two places at once!"

"Of course not." She sniffed. "Pass the marmalade."

Ron spluttered, but Neville handed her the requested condiment before turning to shrug at Harry. After a few minutes, they both stood.

"Here, Hermione let's go. I do believe you have Arithmancy?"

She straightened and followed, hauling her bag over her shoulder. She smiled at Ron and then, once out in the Entrance Hall, glanced down at her bag and yelped.

"I'll be right back!" she hollered. "Just keep going."

They obliged her, and true to her word, she caught up promptly. They shook their heads at each other and continued to, in truth, get themselves hopelessly lost. Somehow they managed to arrive in time for the class to start.

Professor Vector was a stately woman with a stern face, but a warm voice. She was actually quite nice to listen to, but by the end of the lesson of deconstructing their names, Harry was about ready to abandon the class completely he was so confused. Neville only laughed as they scowled at their homework and made their way to catch up with Ron at Transfiguration. He was looking around frantically.

"There you are!" He pointed straight at Hermione. "You were right behind me; how'd you end up down there?"

Hermione glared at him and swept into McGonagall's classroom without another word. Harry and Neville went to Ron's side. "What do you mean, Ron?"

"She was in Divination with me! I started off to Divination and she comes running to catch up, and then once we get out, she disappears and shows up with you two!"

"We just got out of Arithmancy," Neville answered. "She was with us all class." He tapped his chin and then nodded. "Ron, don't worry about it. I think I know what she's doing, just let me deal with it, okay?"

"What do you know that I don't?" Ron growled.

"A lot of books." Harry slung his arm around Ron's shoulders. "C'mon, we'll go sit together and be ignorant of their confusing concepts together."

Ron snorted, but allowed him to allay his concern. It was shortly after they sat that McGonagall addressed the class.

"In the higher levels of Transfiguration, while you will all be learning in your sixth and seventh year to transfigure your classmates if you continue in my class, there is a discipline through which the witch or wizard learns a form of self-transfiguration. These are called 'Animagi', and it takes much work and dedication to reach such level of expertise."

Harry stifled a snicker.

"These Animagi are representations of what a person is in their core being. The animal chosen is a symbol, and not necessarily an obvious one.

"As a master of Transfiguration," McGonagall coughed lightly, drawing a few more people's attention, "I have my own Animagus."

With a faint pop, their teacher was gone and, in her place, was a small brown and grey tabby cat. The stripes around its eyes were very reminiscent of Professor McGonagall's spectacles. Harry smiled and watched her pop back to human. She stared around the room.

"Honestly, not that I expected it or anything, but usually my transformation gets some applause."

Harry only shrugged – his father and godfather had been turning into animals since he was a babe. He expected that was why Neville hadn't either, up until he looked back and found him and Hermione studiously ignoring each other. He rolled his eyes. As for the rest of the class…

"Miss Patil, is something on your mind?" McGonagall asked.

"Please, Professor, but we just came from Divination and Professor Trelawney – she said –"

"Ah, yes." McGonagall straightened with an expression of distaste. "Which of you is going to die this year?"

There was a lot of shifting and murmurs, and Harry received an exasperated look from Ron before he answered, "Me. Except she said something about my rat, and I honestly don't have one."

McGonagall nodded graciously. "Understandable, Mr Weasley. Now, while I don't speak ill of my colleagues, I find Divination to be one of the most imprecise branches of magic. You look in excellent health to me, Weasley, so I would presume that, so long as you do not suddenly acquire a rat this year, there is little chance of your untimely death. I assure you that if you die, I do not expect you to sit any of the exams."

Ron laughed, and McGonagall moved on in spite of the class' general disbelief.

"There are a small number of wizards with the skill required to become an Animagus, although it may be more common than many presume. Most recently, a remarkable group of four young men registered themselves with the Ministry, three in the same year and house." She nodded to Harry, her expression making it clear she knew they'd been Animagi for years before they registered. "Mr Potter, I believe it was your father, godfather, and also Longbottom's father."

Harry and Neville both nodded, and McGonagall began to discuss the theory in far more depth. Harry didn't listen too closely; he expected that when his father got around to teaching him it would go much better. However, if he didn't get the book on it in the next year or so, he was going to start out learning it on his own. He pulled out some parchment to start taking notes anyway.

He'd do anything to keep Peter Pettigrew off his mind.

IIII

After lunch, Hermione joined Harry and Ron on their way to their first Care of Magical Creatures class. She had left the table with Neville, talking about Enchantments, but caught up to them within a few minutes. The rain of yesterday had left behind a beautiful, pale grey sky and damp, springy grass. They were headed to Hagrid's hut, the large gamekeeper waiting in his doorway, Fang at his side.

There were already students gathered and waiting. It wasn't hard to identify whom.

Harry hissed, "Prince." It was hard to contain his excitement, but he quickly knew he wasn't going to start anything. Hagrid deserved a good first class. Malfoy would be trouble enough.

"C'mon now, get a move on!" Hagrid called. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up. Everyone here?" He looked around at the students, and then waved them along. "Right, follow me!"

Hagrid lead them around the edge of the Forbidden Forest to an empty paddock in a copse just beyond the forest's edge.

"Everyone gather round the fence here. Make sure yeh can see. Now, firs' thing yeh'll want to do is open yer books –"

"How?" said the cold, drawling voice of Malfoy.

"Eh?"

"How do we open our books?" Malfoy pulled his out of his bag, bound with a piece of rope. Other people took theirs out too. Some, Harry saw, had used a belt much like he had on his. Others had crammed them in tight bags, or clamped them together with bullclips. Alan and his friends had theirs all in belts, ones that would be easy to open. Before Harry could have his say, Alan cut in.

"Oh, Malfoy. I didn't know rope was the new fashion." Calmly, and with no hesitation, Alan stroked the spine of his book and then popped open the belt. The book slid open quiescently in his hands. "It doesn't take all that much effort to get the book to shut up, you know. You just had to actually put forth _effort._" He smiled nastily. "But I guess you couldn't risk your pretty white fingers, now could you? I'd have thought your daddy would've been more than happy to get them put back on."

Harry tucked the smile off his face and followed Alan's example, quieting his book and getting it open and ready for class. Hermione and Ron hesitantly followed suit, but when Hermione tried to get the spellotape off, it snapped at her again. Hagrid grabbed it from her, tore it open and demonstrated where everyone could see.

"They've got it right." Hagrid smiled shakily. "You just gotta stroke 'em, see, and they lie quiet." He handed it back to Hermione, who took it nervously. Malfoy was pink in the face.

"Oh, like _that_ was obvious," the blond snapped.

"I see why you have no familiar," Harry growled.

Hagrid gathered his thoughts and straightened, regarding the class. "Righ'. Yeh all have yer books … and now we need the Magical Creatures. Yeh stay right here, and I'll go get 'em."

He strode away into the forest and out of sight.

"God, this place is going to the dogs," Malfoy snapped. "That stupid oaf teaching classes; my father will have a fit when I tell him –"

"Do you always tell your father everything?" Harry asked in a polite tone. "Or does he make you stop every time you _shit_ out of your mouth?" Some days he felt sorry for Malfoy. This was not one of them.

"_Harry_!" Hermione yelped.

"Ooooooh!" Lavender Brown, behind them, was staring past the argument to where Hagrid was coming out of the forest.

Trotting towards them were a dozen of the most bizarre magical creatures Harry had ever seen. They had the hindquarters of horses tacked onto the eagle front of a griffon, and each bore hard beaks and keen orange eyes. Their front talons were half-a-foot long each. They were tethered with thick leather collars and chains, held by Hagrid who came jogging up behind them.

"Gee up there!" he hollered. Coming up to the fence, he tethered each chain to it and turned to face them. "Hippogriffs! Beau'iful, aren't they?"

Harry took a step closer, eagerly. They really were. They were an array of colours, changing smoothly from feathers to the horse's gleaming coats. Harry had always wanted to see a griffon, but the full-blooded ones were vicious. Hippogriffs, while a step down, were a lot calmer.

"There we are!" Hagrid beamed at him and indicated the gathered creatures. "Step up if yeh want... get a little closer. Now, first thing you gotta know about hippogriffs is that they're proud creatures. Easily insulted, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, as it might be the last thing yeh do.

"Yeh always wait fer a hippogriff to make the firs' move. It's polite, see? Yeh walk towards him, yeh bow an' ye wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed to touch him. If he doesn't, yeh get away from him sharply 'cause those talons hurt."

Harry stopped inching closer and looked at Hagrid curiously. The big man beamed.

"Yeh want ter go first, Harry?"

Harry grinned. "What do I do?"

"Come in, and we'll see how well yeh get on wit' Buckbeak."

Hermione hissed after him, but Harry climbed over the paddock fence and paused a few feet from it, waiting on Hagrid to bring over one of the hippogriffs: a storm grey male. Most of the creatures were mantling their wings restlessly. Hagrid untied the chain, slipped off the collar and urged Buckbeak over towards the middle of the paddock.

"Easy now, Harry… Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink. Hippogriffs don't trust yeh if ye blink too much…"

Harry caught Buckbeak's eyes and blinked once slowly to start, consciously stopping himself from doing it again.

"Tha's it, Harry, Tha's it … now, bow…"

Harry sank into a low bow as he'd been instructed – Ministry parties suddenly felt a lot more useful – and then looked back up at the impassive creature still staring him down.

"Ah…" Hagrid sounded a little worried. "Back away, now Harry, easy does it…"

Before Harry even started moving, however, the large bird bent its scaly knees and sank into an unmistakeable bow. Harry blinked twice and looked to Hagrid, who was beaming again.

"Well done, Harry! Yeh can touch him, now. Go ahead, pat his beak."

Harry broke into a grin himself and stepped up to pat Buckbeak's head. The hippogriff closed his eyes lazily, enjoying the attention as Harry moved to stroking the feathers down his neck. The class broke into applause, or at least all but Malfoy and his goons. Alan was watching him with great interest.

"Right there, Harry," Hagrid boomed, coming up closer. "I reckon he might let ye ride him."

Harry stared at Hagrid. That seemed to be moving a little far a little fast. Flying was all well and good, but he preferred a broom! Hagrid was so enthused, however, that Harry decided he'd go along with it. As instructed, he braced his foot and climbed up behind the wings and then looked for a handhold.

"Don't pull any of his feathers," Hagrid said.

Right. That ruled out everything within sight. What _should_ he grab hold of?

"Go on then!" Hagrid roared and slapped the hippogriff's hindquarters.

Without warning, twelve-foot wings spread on either side of him, and Harry threw his arms around its neck before it took off into the air. He was strongly wishing for his broomstick: it didn't move beneath him. The flapping wings of the hippogriff felt like he was about to be promptly dislodged and plummet back to the forest the short way. He had to grip something, but the glossy feathers weren't much of a handhold, and he didn't dare grip any harder. Somehow he doubted the ears would be an improvement.

Buckbeak went only so far – up over the near forest and then circling the paddock before coming back down. Harry leaned back to prepare and rocked with the bump as two pairs of mismatched feet returned to the ground. Feeling a bit unsteady, Harry slid over the side and returned to having solid ground under him with a feeling of relief.

"Good work, Harry!" Hagrid roared, and the class cheered, save for the scrooges of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. "Now, who else wants a go?"

Harry's success had emboldened the group, and the students carefully crawled over the paddock fence. Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, and soon students were bowing across the paddock space to hippogriffs of all colours. Ron and Hermione were practising on a chestnut while Harry watched. He felt a stab of worry when Malfoy spoke up.

"This is very easy," he drawled. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it … I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" He looked at Buckbeak, where he was patting him on the head. "Are you, you great ugly beast?"

Harry jolted, but he was too far away. Across from him, Alan also jerked to stare as steel talons flashed and Malfoy let out a shriek of pain. Hagrid was over there in a moment, wrapping Buckbeak back into his collar as Alan pinned Malfoy down.

"I'm dying!" Malfoy screamed. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

"Shut up, Draco!" Alan yelled. "You're not dying, you moron! Hold _still_!" He seized Malfoy's arm and looked at the wound, tapping his wand to his forearm. White bandages appeared, instantly soaked in blood. "Hagrid –"

Hagrid knelt by Malfoy, his ruddy face white. "Thank ye, Prince, thank ye. Can yeh –"

Hermione was already at the gate, holding it open for him. Hagrid lifted Malfoy like a small child and ran for the castle. Harry caught Alan's eye, and they both quickly turned to their respective houses.

"C'mon, move out of here," Harry called. "We don't need to antagonize another of them!"

The Gryffindors and Slytherins practically ran over each other to get out of the paddock. Harry nodded to the hippogriffs they left behind and took up the rear. For a moment, he was standing next to Alan; they met eyes for a moment, and Harry gave him a small, grateful smile. Alan inclined his chin, and jogged to catch up with Zabini. Harry checked the paddock gate – although what good it would do for flying creatures, he didn't know – and caught up with his own class, ignoring the Slytherins' worry and fear.

"Will he be alright?" Hermione asked, worried. "He was such an idiot, but…"

"He'll be fine." Harry shrugged as they crested the Entrance Hall. "Pomfrey can heal far worse than that."

"What was Prince doing?" Hermione asked. Ron snorted as they moved towards the first floor. "What was that about? How did he know that spell?"

"I heard Prince is from Salem," Ron sniggered. "Salem's famous – or, well, infamous. The Alfaerus run the two schools. Usually when someone's talking about them, something or someone got blown up. I'd bet this wasn't the first time Alan saw someone do something stupid like that."

Harry didn't disagree. In one of their letters, Alan had told him of two different experiments in the school going haywire that summer and rather casually mentioned a hospital stay for third degree burns. An insulted hippogriff was probably pretty standard.

"Is the school really that dangerous?" Hermione asked. Ron shrugged, so she turned to Harry. Immediately he raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

"Hey, I don't know. I've only heard some of the same stories as Ron."

"Who are the Alfaerus?"

"American purebloods, or so they say." Harry shrugged, taking a spot on the wall outside the History classroom – they had a half-hour break, but he could start his homework on the floor just fine. "Talk to Mr Malfoy and you'll hear them disparaged from sunup to sundown. They'll marry anyone magical. No muggles, but halfbloods and muggleborns are common, but they still call themselves pureblood. Sounds practical to me, but don't try telling Malfoy that."

"Most purebloods here cite the Alfaerus as reason not to marry into less-than-pure blood," Neville cut in. "The whole lot experiment like crazy. Mind you, a lot of recent innovations are theirs, but it's a good thing they're a big family. I heard last year there were about five deaths inside the school alone."

Hermione looked a little pale, but with Ron's help they tugged her to the floor and set about looking things up. After a minute, Hermione scooted over to work on Enchantments with Neville. Harry asked Ron about their Transfiguration essay to keep him from asking awkward questions. Harry just didn't want to hear it. Neville had said he would take care of it, and he would. If he or McGonagall couldn't handle Hermione, there wasn't anything they could do.

IIII

They worried about Hagrid all evening, and finally, once they saw Hagrid was back in his hut, they decided to visit. They knocked and went in when he acknowledged them, but Harry could smell the alcohol he'd been drinking.

"'Spect it's a record," he said once he picked them out in the hut. "Don' think they've ever 'ad a teacher last only a day b'fore."

"You haven't been sacked!" Hermione gasped.

"S'only a matter of time afore the gov'ners step in." He picked up his mug and seemed surprised to find it empty. "S'only a matter of time, after Malfoy…"

"How is he?" Harry asked. "It didn't look that bad. Hippogriffs don't make the injuries hard to heal."

"Madam Pomfrey fixed 'im up, best she could," Hagrid said. "But he's sayin' it's still agony … moanin' and keepin' the bandages on."

"Bollocks," Neville spat. "Malfoy's just a pussy."

"_Neville!"_ Hermione gasped.

"It's true!" he repeated. "Malfoy's a whiner. He'd bitch for days about stubbing his toe!"

"Either way," Hagrid shrugged, "school gov'ners have been told. They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left hippogriffs fer later … shoulda done flobberworms or summat. Just thought it'd make a good firs' lesson … s'all my fault."

"It's _Malfoy's_ fault," Harry insisted. "Malfoy could screw up learning about plain old _cats. _Your hippogriffs just have good taste."

"Yeah, anyone would want to make him shut up," Neville agreed.

"We'll back you up if anyone comes calling," Ron said.

Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes. He leaned forward to pull Harry and Ron into a bone-breaking hug.

"I think you've had enough to drink." Hermione pulled away the empty mug and found a space on the counter for it.

Hagrid agreed and released Harry and Ron to step outside. There was a great splash, and Hagrid came back in with a smile, his head dripping wet.

"That's better. It was good of yeh to come and see me, I really needed that." He retook his seat at the table and smiled around at them. "I don't know what I'm goin' ter do next. I know ye liked it, Harry, but everyone else…"

"It was just too much for Malfoy's head to handle," Harry assured him. "And the others, well, hippogriffs can be scary. Your book has a number of fun things – there's loads to learn about…" Harry fished his book out of his bag and began to flip through. After a moment, he pointed to the first page. "How about you go over what's in chapter one? Those tend to be pretty manageable, so long as you explain it well. And just keep a close eye on Malfoy – that idiot would hurt himself caring for a puffskein."

When they left that evening, having talked about what they wanted to see, Neville had to ask,

"How could you hurt yourself caring for a puffskein?"

"Anything is possible if you try hard enough," Harry deadpanned.

"No, really?"

"I don't know, choke on it?"

IIII

It was halfway through Potions class on Friday that Malfoy returned to classes, his arm still wrapped in bandages and kept in a sling. He made quite a show of himself, strutting in – Pansy immediately began to coo over him.

"How is it, Draco? Does it hurt much?"

"Yeah." Malfoy grimaced.

Harry rolled his eyes. Up at the front of the class, Severus ordered, "Settle down."

Malfoy seated himself on the end of the table where Harry and Ron were working, setting up his cauldron and equipment.

"Sir, I need help cutting up these daisy roots because of my arm."

"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him."

Ron instantly went red. "There's nothing wrong with your arm!" he hissed.

Malfoy only grinned. "Weasley, you heard what Professor Snape said."

Furious, Ron seized his knife and began to haphazardly chop the daisy roots into pieces. Malfoy turned again to their teacher.

"Professor, Weasley is mutilating my roots!"

Severus strode up to their table and examined the work in question. His eyes flickered between the three boys, while Harry tried to concentrate on his own work, and finally settled on Ron.

"Trade roots with Malfoy, Weasley."

"But sir!"

"I said, trade roots with Malfoy."

"And, sir," Malfoy was plainly struggling not to laugh, "I'll need this shrivelfig skinned."

"Potter, skin Malfoy's shrivelfig."

Harry checked his own cauldron and accepted the piece, skinning it quickly and thickly. He then lobbed it at Malfoy's face; Malfoy's arm – supposedly injured – jerked up to his defence, but didn't make it in time to spare him the fruit landing in his face.

"Gee," Harry grinned, "and not a flinch from that arm."

Malfoy flushed pink and tossed it onto the counter in anger.

"You seen Hagrid lately?" Malfoy maliciously asked, quiet enough to keep it private. "He may not be here much longer."

"It's none of your business!" Ron growled.

"My father's not very happy with my injury. He's spoken to the school governors _and_ to the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know, and with a lasting injury like this, who knows if my arm will ever be the same again." He sighed dramatically.

Harry pinched Ron to keep him silent and turned to glare at Malfoy. "Is your father upset because you were too stupid to keep yourself safe without a nursemaid watching you?"

Malfoy turned red and turned his glare on Ron. "Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me."

Harry smirked. Ron, mollified by what Harry had said, did the work distractedly and shoved it back without trying to destroy them.

They continued to work, avoiding each other now that most of the difficult preparations were underway, and by the end of class, they seemed almost in the clear, if one ignored the silent argument once again underway between Hermione and Neville.

They cleaned up without much fuss until Parkinson shrieked from the Slytherin side of the room. Alan had Malfoy on the floor, his hand on his throat.

"Malfoy! Prince!" Severus shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"

"He's a lying gutter rat!" Alan snarled back. "And a pussy-footed wuss!"

"Just because you were laid up all last year –" Parkinson spat.

Alan straightened and turned his glare on her. "I broke my _back,_ Parkinson, and you didn't hear me whining about how much it fuckin' hurt! And oh, poor Malfoy, he got a little scratch and can't use his fuckin' arm!" He seemed aware of all the attention he was getting and added, "I was nearly _paralysed_ and had to be _rescued_ by a damn Gryffindor!"

Harry stifled his desire to smile. Now he knew Alan was playing the drama up, and he had to release his amusement somewhere. Leaning over to Ron, he whispered, "It probably helped he was in a week-long coma, or he'd have _really_ whined."

Ron snorted.

"Both of you stay behind," Severus snarled. "Move along, class."

Harry finished gathering his things and moved out of the class before Hermione and Neville, who were making meaningful looks at each other that didn't seem all that friendly.

"Hey, Harry," Hermione asked, quite abruptly. "Why do you think Prince did that?"

"Did what?" Harry started to turn.

"Attack Malfoy!" Ron spat. "Sheesh, they're in the same House!"

"That doesn't preclude rivalry, Ron," Neville sighed. "Far as I can tell, Prince doesn't like Malfoy because he's a blood purist bastard."

"That wouldn't surprise me." Harry nodded. "You remember what we said about the Alfaerus: they're not picky. The Malfoys are the pickiest pureblood families short of the former Blacks."

Harry waited for Hermione to question him about the Blacks, but when she didn't, he looked back to find the girl running up the steps. All three of them paused.

"Hermione?" Harry asked. "You were right behind us, weren't you?"

She looked up, confused, and then her bag ripped open, the mess of books tumbling to the floor.

"Oh no!" She dropped, frantically grabbing them up. Neville started to help, Harry accepting the first stack from him easily, looking at the cover.

"Hermione, didn't you say you were going to Herblore this afternoon? This is –"

She scowled, her arms full of books, and attempted to take his pile from him.

Harry pulled back. "Stop it; we're both going to Defence, are we not? Just come along."

Bristling, she stalked ahead of them, her mouth tightly shut. Harry turned to eye Neville's pile. Indeed, he was holding both the Herblore book and Enchantments as well. He furrowed his brow.

"That's a hell of a lot of books," Ron commented. "We only have so many classes today."

Harry shrugged. "Three for us. Apparently, not so for her."

"Yeah." Ron looked at them askance. "You think she's not telling us something?"

Neville was watching her back with narrowed eyes. "I'd bet on it."

IIII

Harry's knee was bouncing repeatedly under the desk, waiting while one hand rested on his book and the other on his wand. Hermione kept throwing him strange glances, but as Neville also had both his wand and his book out, she had compromised and put her wand within reach, as had Ron. Both watched the two eager boys curiously in Defence class.

Remus came in after the class had sat themselves down and smiled at everyone, setting his second-hand briefcase on the desk at the front. He turned a smile on the class.

"Good afternoon. You can put those books away; we'll be having a practical lesson in class today."

"Yes!" Harry hissed under his breath, packing his book back in quickly and holding tightly to his wand. Remus sent him an amused smile as he watched the students clean up. When everyone was ready, he straightened.

"If everyone would please follow me." He strode out the door, Harry and Neville taking the first places behind, almost skipping with glee. He led them along the deserted corridor and around the corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves. The poltergeist was upside-down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

Peeves didn't look up until Remus was two feet away, then he wiggled his toes and broke into song.

"Loony loopy Lupin, loony loopy Lupin, loony loopy Lupin!" It was completely uncharacteristic of the poltergeist to disrespect a teacher. Harry watched Remus eagerly for his response; the teacher was still smiling.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," he said pleasantly. "Mr Filch won't be able to get in to his brooms."

The poltergeist blew a raspberry at him.

Remus took out his wand and turned slightly back to get the class' full attention. "This is a useful little spell. Please watch closely – _Waddiwasi_!"

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves' left nostril. The poltergeist cursed, flipped upright and bolted away.

"Cool sir!"

"Thank you, Dean," Remus said, holstering his wand. "Shall we proceed?"

The class followed him eagerly down a second corridor and to the staff room door. Remus pulled the door open and stood back. "Inside, please."

The staff room was long, panelled, and full of mismatched chairs. All were empty but one. Severus Snape watched the class walk in with his typical sneer, and when Remus moved to close the door, he stood.

"Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this." His eyes glittered over the class. "I believe it would cause some… discomfort."

Harry hoped he was wrong that Severus had lingered on him last and swallowed as the teacher strode out the door, closing it with a snap. Nervously, he turned back to Remus and found him smiling gently at him.

"Now then." Remus drew the class to the back of the room where an old wardrobe stood. They clustered around, and as Remus came abreast, it gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about," Remus said as several students jumped back in fear. "It's just a boggart."

Harry swallowed hard and edged further into the group. He wasn't the only one; Neville went white, and Seamus was watching the door apprehensively.

Remus continued as though he hadn't noticed. "Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboard beneath sinks – I once met one that had lodged itself inside a grandfather clock. _This_ one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third-years some practise.

"So the first thing we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?"

Hermione put up her hand. Unlike himself, Neville didn't compete, so Remus selected Hermione.

"It's a shape shifter. It will take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself." Remus smiled, and Hermione beamed. "The boggart within has not yet taken on a shape. No one knows what they look like when alone, but once I let him out he will instantly assume the shape of whatever each of us most fears."

Harry wrapped his arms around his chest and tried to sink behind the other students. Neville had moved to his side, putting his shoulder in front of his. While Neville was still white, he looked to Harry with concern. Remus ignored their discomfort, his attention focused on the rest of the class.

"This means we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Has anyone spotted it?" Hermione was bouncing on her feet, but Remus gave her a small shake of his head before scanning the class. "Ron?"

Ron flushed red for being singled out, but he straightened and glanced around before trying, "There's… too many of us?"

Remus gave him another smile. "Very good, yes, that is exactly it. Now, Ron, why would our number be such a problem?"

Ron was still bright red, but the praise had enlivened him. "Because… it won't know what to become?"

"Exactly!" Ron straightened with a look of delight, and Remus continued, "It is always best to have company when dealing with a boggart. Then the boggart doesn't know what to become: a headless corpse, or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake and it turned into half a slug. Not even remotely frightening.

"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, but it requires force of mind. The thing that really finishes a boggart is _laughter._ What you need to do is force it to assume a shape you find amusing.

"We will practise the charm without wands first. After me … _riddikulus._" Harry didn't manage to summon the strength to try. How could he make his boggart amusing, anyways? Neville, beside him, whispered the word.

"Good, very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. Ronald, would you be so kind as to help me here?"

Ron flushed, either at the use of his proper name or the prospect of facing the boggart, but he walked the short distance to stand next to their professor.

"Now, Ron, first things first. What would you say scares you most in the world?"

Harry straightened a little, and while he stayed tucked behind Neville he watched, curious how Ron would handle this.

He took a deep breath before answering, his voice squeaking, "Spiders."

A few of the students laughed, but it seemed most didn't disagree at the prospect. Remus nodded understandingly, and then asked again, "Now, how might a spider become something that amuses you?"

Ron paused, thinking hard. Remus waited him out patiently, until he suggested, "Take its legs off?"

"That could definitely work. There is no one right answer – whatever will make you laugh will do. I've seen one person force a spider into roller-skates, so it was tripping and sliding all over the place…" Ron was shuddering, so Remus nodded sympathetically. "Well then, do you have the image of your legless spider in mind? Good.

"When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Ron, it will take the form of a – probably giant – spider. When it comes, you will raise your wand like this and shout _riddikulus, _concentrating hard on removing that spider's legs. If all goes well, your spider will be properly grounded."

Ron nodded, a serious look on his face.

"If Ron is successful," Remus continued, looking out across the class, "the boggart is likely to turn its attention to each of us in turn. I would like all of you to take a moment in turn to think of what frightens you most and imagine how you might make it comical..."

Harry swallowed hard and sank further behind Neville. Remus had tried to teach him this when he was eight and nine. It hadn't worked. He didn't think it would have changed since then, not when he'd only added more fuel to the fire. He just wouldn't face the boggart; he wouldn't put his father through that shame. Neville handled his fear a lot better, even if he hadn't managed to defeat it yet either.

Death Eaters were a lot more innocuous than his father.

Remus moved slowly among the students, asking if any of them needed a hand and checking that they were doing okay. He canvassed the entire class before stopping by Harry, Neville, and Hermione. He checked with Hermione, who was frowning in concentration, and then placed his hand gently on Harry's shoulder.

"You both need to try and think of _something;_ although I do not expect either of you to face it today. Feel free to sink to the back of the class. Harry, use the time to work on it. You will have to face it some day."

Harry flushed, but Remus had patted his shoulder and moved to the front of the class to support Ron once more.

"Everyone step back, please, so Ron has a clear field. You will do fine. I will then call the next person forward… Everyone back now."

Harry used the movement of students to place himself as far from the boggart as possible. Ron was standing alone in front of the wardrobe, pale but determined.

"On the count of three, Ron," Remus said. "One – two – three, now!"

A jet of sparks hit the handle of the wardrobe. The wardrobe burst open, and, chittering and black, a long hairy leg preceded a six-foot-tall spider, its low-slung black body menacing the class with a pair of shiny black pincers. Several other students screamed, but Ron looked like he'd forgotten how. Harry had to wonder what would happen if he couldn't do it, when suddenly he raised his wand and squeaked, "_Riddikulus_!"

There was the noise of a whip-crack, and the vast black body fell heavily to the ground, the legs of the spider gone. It rolled over and Ron gave a weak, relieved laugh.

"Parvati, forward!" Remus called.

Harry squeaked as the black-haired girl beside him walked forward, her pretty face set. Ron sank back to where she'd been, and the spider shuddered where it lay and changed into a bloodstained bandaged mummy. Its sightless face was turned towards her, and it began to walk slowly towards her, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising –

"Riddikulus!" cried Parvati.

A bandage unravelled at the mummy's feet. Its legs became entangled, and it fell forward, its head rolling off.

"Seamus!"

Seamus darted past Parvati.

_Crack._ Where the mummy had been stood a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face – a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly long, wailing shriek filled the room.

"Riddikulus!" shouted Seamus.

The banshee rasped into silence, her voice gone.

_Crack. _The banshee turned into a rat, which chased its tail in a circle, then – _crack_ – became a rattlesnake that slithered and writhed – _crack_ – before becoming a single, bloody eyeball.

"It's confused!" Remus shouted. "We're getting there! Dean!"

The black boy stepped forward, and the eyeball became a severed hand that scuttled across the floor like a crab.

"Riddikulus!"

There was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.

"Excellent! Lavender –"

He didn't finish. Lavender hadn't been any happier with the mousetrap, and her jump back had bereft Neville and Harry of anyone between them and the boggart's attention. It focused on Neville and – _crack_ – a tall figure cloaked in black with a white mask replaced it. The figure advanced, wand in hand. A soft voice spoke, but Harry wasn't listening – he was watching Neville, praying he wouldn't move in spite of him shaking in fear.

Neville made a few small sounds, but he was unable to articulate the spell. The Death Eater raised its wand and chin in clear victory, the tip glowing red.

Neville fell backwards; Harry saw the figure move to stare at him –

Remus Lupin jumped in front of him and met the boggart, wand raised high. The figure disappeared with a crack to a silvery orb dangling high above them. He smiled and laughed sharply at it.

"Riddikulus," he incanted. The boggart dropped to the floor as a small cockroach, and Remus turned. "Ron, step forward and finish it off!"

Ron looked worriedly their way before he moved forward and faced the six-foot spider once more. He firmly said, "Riddikulus!" The spider lost its legs, sitting and rocking slightly in the middle of the room, pathetic and helpless. Ron stubbornly laughed, and so did a few classmates. After a minute, the boggart disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Excellent!" Remus stepped forward and smiled at the class. "Excellent, Ron. Well done, everyone. Five points for everyone who tackled the boggart, ten for Ron because he did it twice, and five to Hermione. For homework, kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me… to be handed in on Tuesday. That will be all. Harry, Neville, a moment?"

The class filed out of the staff room around them, talking excitedly about the lesson. Hermione and Ron hesitated, but Remus sent them to wait outside the door. With everyone gone, he turned and crouched between Harry and Neville. Harry sat as well and wished he could do something for Neville, but he wasn't sure he was any better off than his pale friend.

"Neville, are you okay?" Remus asked softly.

Harry's friend took a deep breath and nodded.

"Are you sure?"

Neville laughed weakly. "Sure."

Remus closed his eyes and straightened. "You were brave to stand your ground, Neville, in face of your fear." Harry curled up, and Remus put his hand gently on his head. "You need to move on to your next classes."

Harry stood and smiled weakly at Remus before leaving with Neville. They didn't look at each other – Harry out of shame. He hadn't even seen his boggart, but the mere anticipation had made him sick.

"Are you two okay?" Hermione asked as soon as they came out.

"We're fine." Neville brushed her aside and moved through the hallways onward. Hermione tailed him closely, but Ron fell into step with Harry.

Harry cut off his questions with one of his own, "How'd you feel up against a six foot spider, Ron?"

Ron flushed red, but he was smiling widely. "I _fried _it, did you see?"

"Yeah." Harry grinned. "You did great."

"What was Neville's?" he asked, but flushed lightly. "I mean, I don't want to pry but –"

Harry sighed. "The last attack by Death Eaters was on his parents. My parents got them out alive, but his parents had been hurt. I don't think he really remembers it, but he remembers enough for a boggart to dredge it up. What class do you have next?"

Ron shrugged and began to fish in his backpack for his timetable. Harry smiled and glanced at his own, trying to remember where he'd find his next class himself. At the next intersection, Harry split off to find Meditations. Hopefully, unlike his high hopes for Defence, this one wouldn't end up turning sour.

* * *

A/N: Three weeks. Middle of the road, I say. I'm good at that, it's good to me, we get on. I'm sure all of you will be uber grateful I waited for my lovely beta (Sweetflag) to get this back to me, and she has the rest already so...  
Enjoy Year Three, in technicolour! (Well, prose rather than letter format...)

Fire & Napalm


	11. Chapter 11

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Eleven**

Harry found the Meditations classroom at the same time as Alan came up and around the corner with a Slytherin girl – Tracey Davis. They paused, and in the interest of a quiet class, Harry turned and slipped inside without engaging him, only to draw up short.

The classroom had no desks, but there were large pillows on the floor upon which his year-mates sat. This was different than any class he had been in before. He recognized Kevin Entwhistle from Ravenclaw, as well as two Hufflepuffs and Theodore Nott.

At the back of the class sat Hermione. Harry frowned: he'd been sure he'd seen her heading to Ancient Runes with Neville.

"Find a seat," the teacher briskly instructed. "Don't sit next to someone who will distract you. You are not here to chatter."

Harry sighed and quickly opted against sitting with Hermione. Whatever was going on with her wasn't _his_ problem. He stepped up and smiled between the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

"May I sit here?"

Kevin grinned and patted the seat next to him. "Sure, Harry. You're taking this class?"

Harry settled and grinned. "Yeah. Less homework than Enchantments or Herblore, and I didn't want to do all the typical classes."

"Good choice." The oriental girl next to Kevin nodded. "My mother did Meditations herself when she learned... said it was the most useful class of the three. She'd tried taking all three, but when given the ultimatum of this class or Enchantments, she kept this one."

"Good to hear." Harry grinned. "My mother took Enchantments and found it indispensable, but she was a near miss for a Ravenclaw as it is."

The Ravenclaws laughed, and then the door was shut loudly. The class looked up to find the teacher waiting for their attention by the door. The dark-haired man smiled genially and strode to the front of the class. He tapped the board, and chalk quickly scratched across it to write the name of the class, followed by his name:

MEDITATIONS

Zachary Elias Noon

Professor ZEN

He caught the chalk on the end and dragged it under the last line.

"Yes, you may call me Professor Zen. You may _not_ call me Zen without the Professor, nor may you call me 'Zachary' or 'Mr Noon'. I ask you call me nothing else, even amongst yourselves, but," he put down the chalk and turned, "you are but students. I expect little of you. However, I _do_ expect your undivided attention. That means – young women in the back – you are supposed to be facing _forward_."

Harry glanced back and caught the glares between Hermione and Lilias Moon from where they sat around Padma. Hermione sniffed and looked to the front; Lilias glared past Padma, caught his eyes, and then faced front as well. The teacher patiently waited them out before continuing.

"This class is exclusive. I retain the right to remove any student I feel is not learning or is impeding the others at any time after the first week. I suspect some of you will not last my first class." He turned his dark gaze over the class: a few quailed; a few ignored him. Harry met his gaze with interest. He was beginning to wonder if his father had ever tried the class; was Professor Zen even here at that time?

"So, I repeat: no sleeping in my class. Yes, I can tell the difference. No arguing. No debates. When I have asked for silence, you _will be silent_. You may chatter with your friends outside of my class. When you are in my class, you will learn. This is not a required class: any and all of you can be eliminated." He wouldn't look at Alan as he said it. Harry noted it with interest, but Alan also made a face. The glare the teacher turned on the rest more than made up for it.

"Now then, to start. This class is a very practise intensive class: if you do not practise outside of this class, you will fail and I will remove you. I _will_ know if you do not practise." He turned and tapped the chalkboard. It cleared immediately, and he began to write. "Meditations is a class of power. You are here to learn how to control your power and yourself. This is not easy; it is not weak. It is nothing one house is better at than another. The greatest of Slytherins have been eliminated well before the weakest of Hufflepuffs." He stabbed in the full stop and spun. "You will learn discipline, control, and temperance. You will learn to maximize your power and guard your thoughts. The grand disciplines of the mind are natural extensions of this class; your Headmaster maximizes his power by the same techniques I will teach you here; so does your Herbology teacher, of all people. This is not a class of books and natural talent – this is a class of cold hard work, and I will tolerate no slackers. Copy this down."

He began to write across the board, the chalk grating on the blackboard. Harry brought out a pen and parchment and copied it down quickly – there wasn't much, just the same listing he'd already said – and then they were told to put aside their notes, reclaim their own space, and to sit cross-legged and calm their minds. It was harder than it sounded. About five minutes in, someone complained.

"This is _boring_."

"The door is _there,_" Professor Zen snapped. "I will certainly _not_ stop you from leaving of your own free will. You will _not_ disrupt the others again, Miss Moon. Be silent."

She shut up. Harry smiled softly, but tried to keep himself calm. They hadn't been given any specifics, just told to relax. After a long time, he began to feel sleepy. When he felt he was ready to nod off, something flicked his ear, and he yelped. Glancing up, he found the teacher giving him a stern look.

Harry gulped and went back to trying to relax _without_ sleeping. He didn't want to get kicked out either.

Finally, the teacher stood up and clapped his hands. He didn't look happy. "Enough. You have all done acceptably well. Please come up to my desk as I call you; you are _not_ free to leave when the class ends unless I have spoken with you. You may speak quietly amongst yourselves while I do so. Miss Brocklehurst?"

The girl behind Harry went up, and Harry settled back on the cushion. Next to him, Kevin covered a yawn. "That was really kinda boring so far," he said.

Harry shrugged. "It should get more interesting, I hope, or he'd never have any kids manage to _not_ sleep through his class."

Kevin grinned. "Let's hope. I was looking forward to this with a bit of a thought to sleep, but after getting threatened like that, I have to see if I'm up to it." He looked up at the front and stood as the teacher called his name. Harry waved him off and smiled again at the young oriental girl and her friend, a girl he didn't know.

"You are?" he asked.

"Su Li," the oriental girl answered. "My friend is Quinn Rivers, from Hufflepuff. I can't believe Padma is even trying to take this class; she's going to fail miserably."

"That's a bit harsh," Harry said, trying not to indicate that he agreed. Judging by Li's smile, he hadn't managed it.

"You are a terrible liar, Potter."

Harry scowled. "Am not."

"It doesn't help that everyone knows you and Longbottom hate the Patils," Rivers offered quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. Yeah, I think they're airheads and have to wonder how they managed to even get into Hogwarts."

"That's easy," Li answered. "The same way Crabbe and Goyle did." She jumped and scrambled up at her name, leaving Harry with Rivers. Leaning back on the cushion, Harry sighed.

"How is it in Hufflepuff, anyways?" Harry asked. "Nobody ever talks about it."

"It's pretty much the same as the others, I would expect." Rivers shrugged. "I know from Su that we at least don't have to deal with such a quirky password for the door."

"What do you mean?"

She flushed. "I can't tell you that. It's supposed to be a house secret."

"Li shared it with you."

"Yes, well, we're friends: have been for years. Of course she would; wouldn't your friends tell you?"

"I don't have that many friends outside my house." Harry shrugged. "All mine got sorted into Gryffindor with me." _Certainly all my old friends did_.

"Maybe you should work on making other friends, too," she demurred. "I like having Su as my friend, even if we don't see each other very often."

Harry nodded, pulling himself up. "Yeah, that does get in the way a bit, doesn't it?"

"We have a number of classes together. It works out."

Harry smirked. "All I get are classes with Slytherin, except for Herbology. Doesn't bode well for friendships. They're all arrogant toerags."

Rivers giggled into her hand and nodded curtly, not answering.

"Mr Potter?"

Harry jumped up, nodding to Rivers as he walked to the front of the class. A glance around proved the room was almost empty; as he walked, the bell rang for the end of classes; he heard Prince groan, but quickly refocused onto his teacher. The man smiled crookedly.

"You did well, Mr Potter."

Harry blinked, surprised. He said this despite him nearly falling asleep?

Professor Zen seemed to know what he was thinking. "A lot of students fall asleep the first day, especially if it's the first or last class of the day; it helps to see how they handle it. You have it easy today. No homework, not yet. Next class will see more details. I will see you there; you are dismissed."

Harry smiled. "Thank you." Shouldering his bag, Harry waved to Rivers and went out the door, not looking back, even when it was Rivers called up, not Alan. It was the end of the day, and he meant to relax. It was the weekend and he had a bucketload of homework, but his classes so far were working out just fine. It was feeling great. He could ask Alan what that was about when he saw him next. For now, he just wanted to be _gone_.

IIII

"Hermione, wait up!"

"What_ now,_ Neville?"

Neville slowed his run by her side and shifted his history book back into his bag. "Hey, don't bite my head off."

"I have _work_ to do, Neville."

"No shit! With your impossible classes you would. I'm not stopping you, just coming with you."

"Oh?" Her eyes flashed. "What about your friend _Harry_?"

"He's much happier making up his homework in the common room with Ron, thank you." He grinned, trying to make her smile. In all honesty, he preferred that himself, but this was a more pressing matter. The prickly girl was mollified until they settled at a table in the library: a stack of books around them. He waited until she had finished one essay before springing the question he had in mind, unconcerned about the haphazard quality of his own – it was _History_. He didn't think Binns even bothered reading their work, anyways.

"Hey, Hermione?" She paused and glanced up at him. "How are you doing it? And don't give me any bullshit about not knowing what I'm talking about; I won't buy it."

"It's none of your business," she growled.

"Like Hell it's not. You're in all our classes: mine, Harry's, and Ron's. We share, what? three electives? Harry and Ron are in Care; I'm not, but you're with me at Enchantments during that time, and Harry says you've never missed a Care class either."

Hermione wasn't looking at him, but neither did she answer. Neville continued. "You're in Arithmancy with me and Harry, and yet Ron's seen you with him at Divination all this week. And to top that off, when he's free and we're at Ancient Runes, Harry says you've been in Meditations with him."

Hermione slammed her book down and snapped, "I _was_ in Meditations until I got kicked _out_!Did Harry tell you _that_?"

Neville nodded. Hermione growled.

"What are you being so demanding for, anyways?" she snapped. "It's none of your business."

"You are breaking every bit of sensibility that exists in front of my eyes, and you expect me not to care?" He glared. "I was every bit as close to being Ravenclaw as you were, Hermione. Don't mess with me like that. I can bring this up with McGonagall to spare my sanity, but I'm asking _you_ first. You wanna see how happy McGonagall is to know that I'm questioning whatever this is?"

Hermione went pink in the face and muttered under her breath until she finally broke down and glared. "You can't tell _anyone_."

"I won't, but don't blame me if people start guessing."

She glowered even harder, but finally she stopped and sighed.

"I'm taking all the electives in Hogwarts. To get to them I'm using … this."

From within her shirt, Hermione pulled out a small hourglass on a chain. Neville reached towards it, but Hermione pulled it back. "No, you can't touch it! I promised McGonagall only I would know and only I would use it. It's a Time-Turner from the Ministry."

"A _what_?" Neville felt his eyes bug out. "You're kidding me! That's illegal!"

"I have permission and everything! McGonagall set it up for me!"

"You're going to blow something up! You're going to blow up your own head, Hermione!"

"I am not, and don't you dare mess with me about this! It's my choice, Neville, _mine_!" She scowled at him. "Go finish your homework somewhere else."

Neville wanted to argue with her further, but no arguments came to mind. He could tell he wasn't going to get any more work done, though, so he just pulled his books together and shook his head.

"I think you're making a mistake, Hermione."

"And I think this is none of your business," she spat. "Good night."

He mumbled a response back, but he wandered off, shaking his head vainly to try and get back on track. It wasn't working; he walked back to Gryffindor tower, brooding – up to the point of coming through the common room door. As soon as he was through, he was jumped. Neville caught his sister Melanie with difficulty, but as he put her down beside him, she burst into sound.

"She is so _annoying_, Neville. Can't I get you in my class to set that _bitch_ straight? She keeps causing a ruckus by bringing her damn _pet_ into class. In a velvet bag, no less! A scrappy sewer rat in a black, velvet bag, wearing a collar with a bow on it! A bow!"

"Melanie, what is this and who?" Neville sent a glare at Harry, but his friend was sitting by the fire with his sleeve stuffed in his mouth. Plainly, he would be no help. "You're going to have to be clearer."

She settled back, put her hands on her hips and imitated their mother to a T. "Astoria Greengrass, in Defence class, with her bloody rat named Patton."

"And this has resulted in you hating her?"

"The bloody thing screams like she's killing it every time she comes into class! I can barely concentrate, and I don't want to fail _Remus_' class because of her!"

Neville rolled his eyes. "Melanie, just because her rat has the same opinion of her as you do doesn't mean I care right now."

As he'd expected, Melanie punched him in the side and stormed off to the other side of the common room. He finished his trip to Harry and Ron with a scowl her way. It wasn't that he didn't believe her; he just had better things on his mind than Melanie having issues with her classmates. She just had to get used to it.

IIII

"I don't think Professor Zen likes you, Alan."

Harry pulled out his Potions homework and scowled down at it, pulling over the Book of Fragrances he was referencing. Across their table in the library, Alan snorted, already writing.

"He doesn't; he hates that he's forced to keep me in the class."

Harry looked up. "Does this have to do with the lessons Louis started you on over the summer?"

"Occlumency." Alan nodded. "Pain in the ass, but hey, no headaches so far this year." Pausing to scratch out something, he added, "Or not like I had first year, at least."

"Did you have those headaches last year?"

"No… Not until I played with that diary. I got a splitting headache after the first few lines of writing in it. Louis just about cuffed me for it."

"Yeah, that wasn't one of our better moments."

Alan straightened and blotted the parchment. "No, it wasn't. How're things going for you? I noticed you'd been avoiding Hermione in Meditations."

"Yeah… have you noticed anything about her?" Harry had to ask.

"Not really. She's not in any of my other electives, if that's what you mean, but I don't have any other classes with Gryffindor. Why?"

Harry rubbed at his face before answering quietly, "She's in all of my classes, and all of Neville's – and Ron's, too."

Alan frowned. "You don't share many classes with them."

Harry shook his head quietly. "I share one elective with Ron, and one with Neville, and then Meditations. That's it."

Alan frowned harder. "That's impossible."

Harry raised his hands without arguing. "That's why I never sat with her in Meditations. How's the snake pit going for you?"

Alan smiled toothily. "You know how it is, friends in high places and all."

"Hah hah." Harry frowned, trying to see what he meant. He couldn't mean his connection to Alan's father, Severus. "How did you snag the upper years, or did they do the same thing Blaise did and pester you 'til you gave in?"

"Hey, that's unfair." Alan then sighed. "Well, for two they did that, but I managed to woo our fifth-years myself. I have the female fifth-year Prefect on my side, thank you. I think she's a good candidate for Head Girl, too, mark my words."

Harry grinned. "I could probably say I'm at least familiar with our seventh-year female Prefect, and you know who managed to get Head Boy this year." Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure if that airhead counts as a resource or not."

Alan snorted. "I wouldn't know either. I'd have to ask Blaise or something."

Harry felt a twinge and asked, "Hey, what's your opinion of Nott?"

"Theodore Nott?" Alan looked at him, surprised. "He's quiet, certainly, but I keep wondering when he's going to bite someone."

"You think he's dangerous?"

"Sort of…" Alan frowned, thinking. "Why are you asking?"

"I know him from society, like I know Zabini." Alan grinned; he found Harry's habit of using last names funny; rather how Harry viewed his opposing habit. "He's got about the same outlook, as far as I know."

"His parents?" Alan asked.

"Father only. I'm pretty sure he was a contemporary of the spy's."

Alan's face darkened. "Rather like little Draco's father, eh? I can definitely say I like Theodore better than that milkweed."

Harry snorted and nodded slowly. He glanced at the book, but was more interested in talking right now than working.

"Why did you attack Malfoy after the incident with Buckbeak, anyways?"

"Because he annoyed me."

Harry smiled. "And the real reason?"

Alan grinned. "It really was because he annoyed me. If that bastard can try to get away with claiming his arm wasn't healed when hippogriff wounds aren't antagonistic to healing, I'm going to have to hurt someone in charge around here. Besides, it really was a pathetic wound. I did notice nobody seemed all that worried – in Slytherin, at least – when I was injured." Alan's face softened. "Well, a few were. Blaise and Daphne and Tracey and Lucille, but that was about it."

"Your friends?" Harry frowned. "The only Lucille I know around our age is a Pupp."

"Yeah, that's her."

Harry hesitated before opting to be blunt. "Her mother's a black-hearted bitch."

"You picked that up from your friend Neville," Alan observed, "and Lucille is nothing like her mother."

"I'll take your word for it," Harry allowed.

"You looking forward to wreaking some more 'merry Hell' sometime?"

Harry grinned. "You bet. Got something in mind?"

"Not at the moment." Alan shook his head. "Although, if you want to pick a fight when I'm with Lucille, feel free. I'm sure she'll forgive you for being Gryffindor."

"Hey," Harry scowled, "we agreed no antagonizing each other in the library, or at least not this part of it."

Alan smiled tightly again. "Fair enough. You'd better not fail Potions, Harry, or I'll never let you live it down."

"Oh?" Harry raised his eyebrow and tried not to blush.

"In other words, get to work, you idiot."

IIII

Alan hurried ahead of Daphne out of Potions to try and avoid her continued humour. After a short conversation in the common room where he told her the eyes she kept feeling were not, in fact, her sister's rat but were just Draco Malfoy noticing that she was, in fact, a girl, Daphne hadn't gotten off his case about noticing the fact himself. He wasn't interested, it was just… a fact.

Either way, his agitation was getting the best of him, and he came to the Entrance Hall to find it milling with third-year Gryffindors. Daphne was still on his heels. Alan quickly sought out Harry's attention and sneered.

"How's the girls of Gryffindor coming along, Potter?" he called.

Harry halted and stared at him blankly for a moment. "What, can't find any in Slytherin?" His confusion was plain, but Alan had to rock back and grin.

"I find them easily enough." He slid a glance towards Draco, obviously enough that the blond noticed and turned pink. "Couldn't help but wonder, you know… "

"Wonder somewhere else! They're too good for you!"

"Like Hell!"

Inwardly, Alan was laughing at himself for such a pathetic excuse for a fight, but they both drew their wands anyway, and he got off the first spell. Harry dodged, and so, too, did Neville – Hermione caught the spell dead on, and Alan winced. That wasn't going to be pretty, but he didn't have time – Harry was keeping him on his toes, up until Severus came up to lunch and Flitwick hexed them both into silence. Alan fumed silently as Harry panted for breath, his eyes gleaming with happiness. Alan snarled at him, but quickly found himself face to face with his father.

"Alan," he glared, "come with me."

He followed him back into the dungeons, sparing only a short glance over his shoulder. Flitwick was busy trying to find Hermione's face under her rapidly growing mane of hair. The diminutive professor did not look happy, and Alan winced again; he was rather more glad his father seemed likely to be giving him the detention. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know what Flitwick's were like.

IIII

Neville sighed and watched Ron and Hermione with a scowl. Hermione was fretfully working her way through her Arithmancy homework as Ron worked on his Divination. She'd been touchy ever since Harry's fight had sent her hair into psychotic growth and Pomfrey had taken two hours to tame it back to the usual unmanageable curls. With the boy in question in detention, it left Neville alone on tenterhooks with her. It was the beginning of October, and with all of Hermione's classes, even Ron was getting suspicious.

"What's that?" Ron asked bluntly.

"Arithmancy," Hermione snapped.

"You never went to Arithmancy," Ron said. "You were in Divination with me!"

"Ron," Neville cut in, "if you've not done your homework when Flitwick's finished with Harry, you're going to be behind!"

"Harry hasn't done his work yet!"

"Yeah, he has. I checked."

"When on earth did he have time to do it?"

Neville shrugged. "Break? He disappeared at lunch today; I think he was in the library."

"What was he doing in the library?"

Neville gave him a look, and Ron flushed before returning to his work. He stayed at it until the chart was done before eyeing Hermione's work again. "What else you got to finish?"

Hermione frowned and began to count off on her fingers with worry. "Herblore. Ancient Runes. Divination. Enchantments. Charms. History…" She swore and glanced over her number chart before she quickly blotted it and began to search for another book.

Ron swore at her himself. "Blimey, Hermione, how are you getting to all your classes? And everyone knows taking Herblore _and_ Enchantments is just plain mad!"

"It's none of your business, Ron!" Hermione shrieked.

"Like Hell –"

"_Ron_!" Neville roared. The redhead jumped and met his glare only for a second. "Shut it. It's none of your business. What about your own homework?"

Ron shuffled through it all and then gave Hermione a superior look. "I'm done."

"Lemme see it."

Neville sat down and began to go over each paper with him, looking for glaring mistakes. After pointing out eight in his History essay, Ron grumbled and set about writing it again – that held him over 'til ten-thirty, when Harry came into the common room, smelling strongly of lemons. Neville raised his eyebrows.

"Had to show him I'd mastered my mother's favourite lemonade charm." Harry grinned weakly. "It wasn't as fun as it sounds." He rubbed his eyes again; Neville could see streaks and smears on his glasses. "Merlin, lemon juice hurts, and don't ask me how many seeds I got hit with."

Ron snickered as Harry slipped up the staircase. "I think there's one still in his hair."

Neville shook his head and quickly flipped through the history book to the next page Ron needed. "Get your eyes back on the page, Ron."

His interference lasted until Harry came back downstairs, looking a bit more perky now without having to squint. Ron bounced in place and slapped a hand onto the chessboard. "Hey, Harry, let's play."

He got a brilliant smile. "Sure. Let's see how badly I lose."

It was an understatement. Neville watched him play, and Harry missed some of the most obvious moves he'd ever seen him miss. He kept looking between Harry and Ron's game and Hermione, hard at work over her assignments. After a few minutes he concluded two things:

Harry must be practising for Meditations because he was zoning out something terrible, and Hermione was in way over her head.

Neville tried to think about when would be the best time to tell her so, but a lump in his stomach told him it wouldn't go over well.

Maybe after Hallowe'en. Maybe.

IIII

First Quidditch practice of the season, Harry got a first-hand taste of how fanatical Oliver Wood could get. The Captain pointed his finger at him threateningly and told him flat out to get the Snitch for them this year and win the Quidditch Cup. Harry readily agreed, promising to catch the Snitch every game they played – it was a personal goal of his to _never_ miss a Snitch. Oliver definitely did not disagree.

Halfway through October, Harry slipped back inside away from Quidditch practice and up through the Entrance Hall to actually relax and get his homework done. Halfway to the library, he came up to two girls arguing ferociously.

"– most disgusting, filthy animal in the world and you _kept it_. It's so appalling I'm surprised mother and father even _let_ you, but I don't care about them. You will keep that _filthy, disgusting_ rat _away_ from me, you hear that?"

"Yes, sister," a younger girl answered. "Of course, sister. Now get lost – I'm going to be late."

"Scram, then."

Harry crested the stairs in time to have Daphne sweep past him downstairs. After a moment, he shook his head and moved onwards. Maybe that rat had something for looking at her; Daphne was _definitely_ a girl now.

He wondered when exactly Hermione had gotten like that herself, but ditched the thought immediately. Neville would kill him, but in regards to her, he needed to ask him something too – and not regarding her… sprouting.

He was jumped inside the common room by the girl in question, nearly blushing as she hugged him tightly – their height was different enough he suddenly came very close to a face-full of her chest. Pushing her back, Harry coughed and blushed deeper as his voice broke.

"What – What's got you excited?"

"First Hogsmeade weekend is the end of the month," Neville answered deceptively lightly. Something was definitely on his mind. "Sounds good to me."

"Good to me, too." Harry grinned. "I wanna get into Zonko's for a few things." A few things for Alan, specifically. He hadn't gotten him a birthday present, and even if he bought something himself, you could never have too many Zonko's products.

"Boys!" Hermione huffed, but she was still smiling. "Do you think of anything but pranks?"

"Actually, I'm surprised Harry even mentioned it. You've never been interested before," Neville said, watching him.

Harry smiled; he knew it wasn't a friendly one. "I've never had a good target before, either."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "It's hardly been two weeks since you had detention!"

"So?"

"That's the ticket!" Lee Jordan grinned at them. Hermione turned to glare at him, and he nearly tripped on himself backing out. Harry and Neville shared a laugh and were still laughing when Hermione turned her scolding on them.

It wasn't long before it was the thirtieth and the Hogsmeade weekend was upon them. Kids were stocking up for Hallowe'en the next day, and Harry nearly got bowled over twice in the hubbub, much of the older students taking precedence in Zonko's crowd. Harry bought little, but quickly followed Ron into Honeyduke's for a good dose of sugar and then the Three Broomsticks to warm up from the autumn chill. The table they were seated next to had a couple of fifth or sixth-year Ravenclaw girls talking and griping amongst themselves. Harry watched Neville and Hermione argue about the books they'd found in the local store, but finally just tuned them out. He listened to the older girls until Ron got back with the Butterbeer.

"It was last night again when I caught him out, peeking in from the outer door. I would've sworn he was staring straight at me, and I was just out of the shower! Had nothing on at all, and the damn bugger just _sitting_ there."

"A rat, right? I had the same feeling, but I didn't see it clearly, just a dark, furry streak heading straight out of the room."

"That's freaky. I'm going to have to put up wards before I shower now; it sucks that you can't feel safe in your own dorm! We should bring it up with Professor Flitwick."

"Hey, Harry, you wanted a Butterbeer, right?"

Harry glanced up at Ron and forced a smile. "Yeah, I did. Thanks."

Peeking rats? Impossible. It was just a curious rat. How many students had rats, anyways? It wouldn't be a minority, he was sure. Plenty of rats in the school.

Harry shook his head. "When can I get you into Keeper tryouts, Ron? I swear Wood will take you on as reserve: get some practise in before next year."

Ron turned a lovely red, and Neville looked away from Hermione to join him in the teasing. "Yeah," Neville agreed, "or do we need to haul you up to the stands next practise and offer you up as a sacrifice for the Quidditch Cup?"

Ron's shifts between outrage and horror were plenty of entertainment to take Harry's mind off matters. It was on the walk back that he broached his second concern with Neville. He had his suspicions, but all the same…

"Hey, Neville?"

He got his attention and dropped back from Ron and Hermione, who were currently arguing his technical chances at the Keeper position. Neville gave him a raised eyebrow, and Harry frowned lightly before asking, "Do you know what's up with Hermione?" When he received narrowed eyes, Harry amended. "Yes or no will suffice."

"Yes," Neville answered curtly.

"Is she going to be okay?"

Neville again hesitated, but he answered shortly, "McGonagall knows. I'm going to try to talk her out of it next month, but not now."

Harry nodded slowly. "Okay, good. Thank you, Neville."

Neville smiled back, but Harry knew he wasn't happy. The direction his eyes flicked made the reason why very clear. Harry only nodded, skipping ahead to torment Ron some more with another threat to haul him to the next practise. It devolved him into spluttering again, but this, Harry knew, was something he wanted.

Ron would just thank him later. Possibly much later, but he knew he would someday.

IIII

Harry doubted he could've gotten Ron to move out of his chair as they lazed about after the Hallowe'en feast. Across from him, Neville and Hermione were discussing their Enchantments homework intently. Harry couldn't bring himself to think about schoolwork at the moment: he had all his homework for his Monday classes done, and that was all that mattered.

The commotion started at the base of the girls' staircase; two girls shrieked, "Rat!" and jumped aside. A group of boys, standing nearby, started laughing and taunting them, bringing about more indignant screaming. Harry thought he saw something near the door flare blue, but it disappeared moments before a feral shriek silenced the room.

"Merlin's drawers!" someone swore.

Harry turned to kneel on the chair and look and his jaw dropped open. The seventh-year female Prefect was standing on the last steps, wearing only a towel wrapped around her chest. Her curly hair was soaking wet, and she had her wand in one hand as she scanned the room frantically.

"Where did he go? A rat, a fucking rat, where did it go?" She looked down abruptly and scowled. "Hey, you're Granger's cat. I'm looking for a rat that's not a rat, where is it?" She looked up again. "_Anyone_? You smarter than the damn _cat_?"

Harry felt something like lead in his chest, and the blush that had been starting was cut short. "Hey, did you cast the Animagus spell on it? Turned it blue?"

"Yes, Potter. Why?"

"I think he went out there." He pointed to where the colour had disappeared, near the portrait hole. "Why'd you use that spell?"

She cut off her swearing to answer, "The damn thing was staring at me way too intently."

Harry's blush reasserted itself, but he was thinking fast. Rats. It was always rats. "Was it a fat, black rat?"

She brushed back her hair and growled, "Yes. Why are you asking so much? Do you know the shithead?"

He had to call someone, but… "Neville, it's the wrong time, isn't it?" he asked under his breath.

Neville stood and went to the window before turning back and nodding.

"Shit." Harry got off the chair and dropped down in front of the fireplace, quickly throwing in the Floo powder before quietly calling, "Severus Snape's office!" and sticking his head in.

The world spun around him, while his knees remained hard against the floor. Quickly, Harry braced himself with his arms until the spinning seemed to slow, but it wasn't until someone spoke that he opened his eyes.

"Mr Potter, I hope this is something important."

Harry looked up and flinched a little; Severus did not look happy, but Remus wasn't available: it was a full moon. His father and Neville's were both with him in the woods, and Sirius was either there or at work.

"Severus, I think Peter Pettigrew is in the school."

The teacher was out of his chair and by the fire immediately. "What do you mean?"

"One of the seventh-years, our girl Prefect, said a rat was staring at her, and she used the spell to reveal Animagi. It was a fat black rat – the same form as Pettigrew." Harry paused before offering, "Sir, this isn't the first time I've heard someone complain of peeping rats. I overheard a few fifth-year – or something – Ravenclaws mention a black rat staring at them in the shower."

"Step back and I will come through in a minute; I need to Floo the Headmaster."

Harry pulled his head back and sat down hard before scuttling out of the way. He had a moment's regret about choosing Snape before standing.

"Well?" the girl asked.

"A teacher should be through in a moment; uh…" Harry died out, wondering how to broach her state of dress. She seemed completely oblivious to the amount of attention she was receiving – she had, well, _curves._ Emphatic ones.

The Floo flared green, and abruptly the girl turned red. Just as she opened her mouth to object, Severus Snape straightened from the fireplace with a scowl.

A perfectly audible 'Eep' came from the girls' stairs, followed by a quick run. One of the boys quickly shouted,

"Nice tits, Carmine!"

The girl shouted back, "You're dead meat, Kenneth!"

"You're all natural, ain'tcha?"

The last was followed by an inarticulate scream and the slamming of a door.

"I take it that was the girl in question?" Professor Snape drawled.

"Yes," Harry answered curtly, refusing to look at him or the rest of his house. "I saw the rat leave over by the portrait hole, still flashing blue. I don't know the story from the top, though."

"Miss Hodges is the foremost witness?"

Harry nodded curtly. Severus made a small motion towards his shoulder before bypassing it and turning back to stare at the staircase Carmine had disappeared up. It wasn't too long before she was back down, wearing an appropriate Hogwarts robe and blushing pink. The Potions teacher stepped around the chairs by the fireplace to speak to her.

"Miss Hodges, what exactly happened here?"

"Well, Professor Snape, I was having my shower when I noticed a rat was poking its head into my stall and watching me intently. It wasn't acting like a rat, so I glowered at it and then hexed it with the Revealer spell and it turned blue."

"Why did you use the Animagus Revealer spell?"

Carmine snorted. "Because it was the most obvious reason a rat would be acting like a pervert."

"And your actions after it turned out to be an Animagus?"

"To run the Hell after it."

Snape's voice turned wry. "In a towel?"

Carmine's pink face turned red. "I wasn't thinking," she mumbled, before glaring. "At least I remembered _that_!"

Severus' lips pursed – his face so severe that Harry was sure he was hiding amusement or something. "Very well." He turned back to the common room. "You are all to remain in your common room. I will take the matter in hand with the rest of the school; your Head of House will deliver the news of what will be done."

Snape turned and swept out of the portrait hole, and when it closed behind him, there was a flurry of questions and rumours. A few girls went to Carmine with pale faces, and more than a few people sent glares Harry's way. Seamus, nearby, glowered at him.

"What'd you call _Snape_ for?"

Harry blushed again and didn't want to answer. Neville punched Seamus in the shoulder.

"Knock it off; his mother _is_ Snape's friend."

"Probably his only friend," Seamus grumbled, but he backed off. Harry saw that most others wouldn't agree, and he quickly went up the stairs to his dorm.

Truthfully, that had been most of the reason he'd summoned Severus. He knew Lily shared much with him, so Severus understood the threat Peter posed better than anyone outside the Marauders. Severus also had immediate jurisdiction over Hogwarts, and… and after being friends with Alan for most of a year, Harry felt he would understand him better than either of his parents.

Harry sat down hard on his bed and turned that thought over in his head again. Quickly, he shoved it out of his mind. He didn't need to terrify himself before going to bed for Samhain.

He wasn't ready for that truth yet.

IIII

Monday morning, the students went down to breakfast en masse. The tables were as crowded as they had been the night before, and once it was in full swing, Dumbledore stood to address the school. Harry already knew what was going on. His father, godfather, and Frank and Alice Longbottom all were present at the staff table; the only Marauder missing was Remus, who would still be recovering from the full moon.

"While some of you know little of the events of last night, I have news which affects all the students of Hogwarts," the Headmaster said. "A Prefect discovered a rat Animagus in the halls of Hogwarts: a small, black, male rat. The Animagus matches the description of Peter Pettigrew, a fugitive. As a precaution, the Ministry has granted us a group of Aurors for the time being to safeguard our halls. Please give them your respect, and if you have information you believe relevant to their search, please pass it along. However, do not unnecessarily distract them from their work. They should have no effect on your classes. With that, I believe the time for your first classes is nigh."

"Discovered," the female Prefect, Carmine Hodges, grumbled. "He makes it sound so deliberate."

"You did well to chase him." Percy nodded. "But really, you exposed yourself to the young students of our house. Completely indecent."

"I happen to know the majority of your dorm mates completely disagree," she sneered. "Although, their tales repeatedly get taller with each telling. I did _not_ drop my towel."

Harry snorted. Neville and Ron both stood to move to their next class, Herbology, but as they came out the door they came to a complete stop. Well, Ron did. Harry was hauled off his feet in a brutal hug that he excitedly returned.

"Dad! How'd you get here so fast?" He laughed. "You were – stop that! – at the staff table!"

"I'm an Auror, Harry," his father laughed. "Part of the job description. But you need to get to class, and I only have one question: who was the girl who spotted the rat?"

Harry was set on his feet again and pointed back to the table. "The curly brunette talking with Percy. The female seventh-year Prefect." He grinned. "You already know that; surely Snape told McGonagall who it was. You're just making excuses."

"For a good cause," he grinned, "but yes. What do you have next?"

"Herbology with Hufflepuff. Are you really going to be here all week?"

James nodded. "Yep. Gotta make sure he doesn't sneak back in."

"Was it really Pettigrew?"

He shook his head. "You're going to be late to class, Harry. Move along."

Harry pouted, but he jogged after Neville, who had hauled Ron out of the way. It was really irritating when his father was on the job. He could never tell him _anything._

He'd have to find some other way to get him to answer the question. If he was careful enough, he could probably slip it in with him none the wiser of the 'Slytherin' technique. But not quite yet. If he got caught, he'd get an earful for the tactic, and that would not be good.

He'd ask Alan if he had any ideas. He'd know how to do it.

* * *

N/A: And we have a not-Scabbers. *Grins* This should be interesting...

Enjoy!

Fire & Napalm


	12. Chapter 12

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Twelve:**

"Why did it have to be Hallowe'en?" James asked, stretching his neck left to right. "Any other year, maybe, but this year…" He grinned at his tawny-haired friend. "Well, it was inconvenient to say the least."

"That is true," Remus agreed softly. "But we're here, and so far, he hasn't returned to the school."

"You're confident of it?"

Remus tapped the battered suitcase under his arm. "I've had it working perfectly for weeks, James. I'm sure."

James grinned. "Good. Do you know what class Harry is finishing now?"

"Meditations," Remus answered promptly. "I asked McGonagall for a copy of his timetable at the beginning of the year."

"And apparently memorized it. Meditations." James shook his head. "That boy has too much of his mother's academics."

"I'd believe the forlorn tone better if you weren't grinning."

"Well, it's just that if he keeps this up, it puts a timeline on when he gets his extracurricular lessons from Moony, Brownclaw, Padfoot, and Prongs, if you recall."

"I strongly suspect that timeline has been settled for years now." Remus smiled.

"Well, yes. Frank cheated. He got his son addicted –"

"_You rotten Slytherin, give that back right now_!"

James and Remus looked up the staircase leading to the second floor. A small, black-haired boy raced down the staircase of the third floor and nearly tripped down to the second floor. He blasted past them and to the staircase ahead before his pursuer came around the end and swung onto the banister to slide and catch up. James had to look twice before he realized it was Harry chasing the other boy, minus his book bag.

"_Prince, don't think you're going to get away with that_!"Harry screamed again, as he hit the ground running.

"You shouldn't have left it!" Prince taunted, turning to haul the bag into the air at the base of the staircase. "Zen doesn't let you sleep anyways, punk."

"I was_ not _asleep. You're the one who's _failing_!"

Remus and James raced to keep up with Harry as he threw himself to the first floor and then down the marble staircase to the Entrance Hall, where the boy who'd passed them first was waiting, Harry's book bag swinging lazily in his spare hand. As Harry was halfway down, Prince sent a hex at him. Harry rolled onto the stairs and came up at the bottom in a run, tackling the Slytherin boy to the ground, Harry's bag skidding away, forgotten.

James fought back the improper desire to cheer as Harry landed a solid punch to the other boy before a full-blown fight broke out, fists in play more than magic. Remus punched James' shoulder anyways before they both hurried down to the rapidly gathering crowd to stop the fight. James put off actually interfering until they were inside the main circle. He summoned Harry off as Remus took charge of his opponent. Both stopped fighting instantly at the intervention.

"Dad," Harry shouted. "My bag!"

James summoned it from the Slytherin boy who'd picked it up, sending the boy a glare. Harry shouldered the bag without checking the contents, a scowl on his face.

The Slytherin he'd been fighting sneered, disregarding his split lip and rapidly developing bruises. "Oh, getting Daddy to step in?"

"Shut up," Harry growled. "Don't be bloody jealous." Harry winced as the glare he was receiving darkened.

"Enough, both of you. Hold still," Remus cut in, and then cast a general diagnostic spell. James did the same; neither found anything of concern. "Prince, you will serve detention with your Head of House. Harry, your detention will be served with me. Both of you be on your way. Go."

Prince shrugged him off and turned to jog upstairs, not even sparing Harry a glance. The other students began to disperse, and James gave Harry a curious look. Harry shrugged at him and ducked his head.

"See you," he said, before jogging up the stairs himself.

James gave Remus a curious look.

"He's free until Astronomy later tonight," Remus supplied, "but this also isn't the first fight they've had."

James grimaced. "Continuing well in our tradition, is he?"

"To some degree, yes. He constantly picks fights with Prince. You know how many detentions he's gotten."

James rolled his eyes. "Yeah, indeed. It's just… Well, Lily doesn't like it. I'd rather he didn't get into the fights, but then again, as far as I can tell, Prince is the classic Slytherin."

"To a point, he is," Remus agreed, "but Prince gets into just as many fights with Malfoy as he does with Harry, and the Zabini heir sticks to his side like glue, much to the boy's annoyance, in fact. He's just… very charismatic. The classic Slytherin, without being arrogant about it."

"Do you know his blood stance?" James asked.

"I know he was raised in America, in Salem." Remus shrugged. "You get all kinds there, but I would be willing to bet he doesn't put much store by it."

James gave it some thought, but then shrugged it off. "Well, you know how our rivalry with Snape ended. I suppose I shouldn't be too concerned. Neither of them was really hurt."

"No, they weren't." Remus smiled at him. "And about that, I was under the impression nothing had ended between you and Snape. As far as I can tell, Lily is the _only_ thing standing between you."

James gave him an offended look. Remus just laughed.

IIII

Harry rocked back on his heels and grimaced. "Remus…" he whined.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Am I done yet?"

"Are you at the bottom of the stairs?"

"Remus, I have to play against Slytherin tomorrow!"

His teacher finally looked up over the book he was reading and smiled. "Then I suggest you get back to work."

Harry groaned and leaned into scrubbing the marble stairs again. While he'd been prepared for detentions, Remus wasn't being nice. Harry wouldn't be surprised if Remus had chosen Friday night deliberately to drive the point home about picking fights, but between his worry about the next day and not being allowed to see Pomfrey for his bruises, it wasn't looking good.

Of course, he would still manage – and he'd win, too – but this wasn't going to make it easy. It was promising to be a bloody miserable storm tomorrow, and he had five steps to go. He'd just never thought about how _wide_ the staircase was in the Entrance Hall before.

Harry moved down to the next step to start cleaning and tried to shrug off the cool breeze on his neck. He moved the brush sideways to scrub and then felt goosebumps jump up his arms. Turning, he glared at the doors, but both were locked shut, as they had been all evening. It was coming on to ten at night: nobody but Prefects and teachers should be out and about. Harry turned back to work, but his fingers froze as he heard a sibilant hiss.

"_I smell blood – I smell blood_!"

Harry spun, but realized quickly it had only been a memory. He hadn't heard anything.

"Harry? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah…" He ran his hands up his arms, but turned resolutely back to work, his hackles up. His hands were shaking, and he had to close his eyes as the image of Alan under the falling pillar came back to him. There was a rushing in his ears, and suddenly, he heard a book fall to the ground above him. Hands grabbed his shoulders. Harry jerked away so hard he nearly fell.

"Harry, look at me! It's Remus, are you okay?"

Harry blinked. "No… Remus, what's happening?"

His teacher looked hard at the front doors and quickly cast a silent spell. A white mist hovered in front of them, and Harry felt the memories abate. His shaking only got worse.

"Moony?"

Remus swore, breaking off to send a white streak up the castle stairs and then pull him to his feet. "Upstairs, Harry. Go."

"Moony, what is going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Harry. Get up to Gryffindor tower, now!"

He tried, but as soon as he stepped out from behind Remus, he was swamped with fear; he was staring at a wall of black fire, and beyond it –

"Harry! _Harry_! _Dammit all_."

He was laying, half-off the stairs, shaking or being shaken; he wasn't sure which. Remus caught his eyes and then pulled him up against his chest.

"He's awake again, finally. What is going on, Dumbledore?"

"I will tell you when I have dealt with the problem."

Harry blinked awake, hearing the Headmaster's voice, and then straightened enough to look past Remus to where he was descending the stairs to the front doors. The bar lifted, and the doors opened wide.

On the threshold, standing in the pouring rain, were at least a dozen figures in tattered black cloaks, their faces hidden in darkness. Harry whimpered and gripped Remus tighter.

"Begone, all of you," Dumbledore ordered. "Your orders are to watch the grounds. Do so from the outskirts – you are forbidden to set foot within. Go!"

There was a pause and then, in a wave of motion, the figures glided away into the distance, down the sodden path towards the Hogwarts gates. With them went the pall of fear Harry had been labouring under, and softly, he breathed out in relief, pressing his forehead against Remus' robes. He didn't flinch when Remus rested his hand on his head.

"Dumbledore," Remus asked, "what are Dementors doing on the grounds?"

"The Minister has decided the threat of Pettigrew against our students is overt and requires Ministry intervention. The Dementors are supposedly added security in the interests of that."

"They are a danger to the students in and of themselves," Remus spat.

"They must obey my orders regarding the school grounds," Dumbledore sighed. "I have assured the Minister I have my school under control, but could not refuse him. The Dementors should come no closer than the outer walls."

"They certainly didn't heed that today."

"I am very sorry, Remus. And to you, Harry, I sincerely apologize."

Harry swallowed and sat back up, mustering a smile for them both. "I'm… alright. I'll be fine. It was just a surprise, that's all."

"You have enough pain in your past that the Dementors are a bane to you, Harry," Dumbledore pointed out. "They will affect you worse than many of your classmates. Do not be ashamed."

Harry shrugged, but he supposed most students hadn't seen a classmate nearly die violently either. "I suppose. Well, they aren't going to be near enough to affect me, right?"

"No, they shouldn't be," Remus agreed. "But don't rely on that. If you think they are near, get out. There is no shame in it."

"Right." Harry cracked a smile. "So, do I still have to finish the staircase?"

Remus shook his head and stood. "No, but you do need to come with me to my office. I have a bar of chocolate that should lift your spirits. Headmaster, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Remus, Harry." Dumbledore smiled sadly. "And good luck tomorrow."

Harry grinned. "I thought you weren't supposed to take sides!"

Remus dragged him upstairs, grumbling past his smile, "I'm not entirely sure you need the chocolate anyways…"

Harry leaned over and hugged him quickly. Remus patted his shoulder, and indeed, he did have a large bar of chocolate in his desk. Harry popped some in his mouth, and a weight he hadn't noticed lifted from his shoulders.

"Better?" Harry nodded. "Good. Back to your dorm, then, Harry. You may tell your housemates about the Dementors, but Dumbledore should make an announcement tomorrow morning. And don't dwell on them; they should have little affect on your schooling. Just stay away from the outskirts of the school." Remus smiled bitterly. "If your father has anything to say about it, they shouldn't be here long at all."

"Good." Harry grinned. "I wouldn't want them messing up my flying." Harry turned and left. He missed Remus' pained expression and his sudden turn to make a Floo call behind him.

IIII

Alan stared out at the rain in dismay. He did not want to be playing in this weather. Behind him, Warrington walked into his shoulder and sneered. Alan glared back and raced out into a rumble of thunder, heading to the changing rooms. He was rapidly soaked to the skin, with no hopes of drying off anytime soon. No advantage would be useful in the pouring rain between him and Harry – they'd be lucky not to collide.

Waiting for Montague to finish haranguing his players, Alan grouchily wondered if he was going to have anything go right anytime before Christmas. His father had kept him up the night of his detention, working over the basic healing potions until his eyes crossed, which had him falling asleep the next day in Arithmancy and getting held up for half an hour after class until he'd finished the work for Professor Vector.

And now, there were Dementors on school grounds. As if he needed to add any more worries.

"Move out!" Montague shouted. Alan ducked the rain and trotted onto the pitch, mud soaking into his shoes, and his robes well on their way to being waterlogged.

Montague and Oliver Wood met before Madam Hooch and wrung each other's hands. Wood looked extremely stiff from what Alan could see, but Hooch's instructions were mouthed and met – Alan reclaimed his feet from the mud and swung himself onto his broom, kicking off with her shrill whistle. A hard wind threw him into the melee of players, and he struggled to rise above them, blinking water out of his eyes... his hair plastered to his forehead.

Below him came a hard _crunch_ and a sharp whistle at the foul. Alan rolled his eyes, but turned back to the darkness of the storm, looking for a glimmer of gold in the pouring rain. About thirty feet away and flying in the opposite direction, Harry was doing the same, wiping at his glasses.

After the coldest, wettest time of his life, Alan saw the Gryffindors flying down to regroup, and he turned to find his teammates. Landing with them under the overhang, Alan stayed out of their furious debate until Montague addressed him.

"You! Are you going to find the Snitch in this weather?"

"I can," Alan said. "It won't be easy, but if it turns up, I can find it and chase it down."

"We're thirty points in the hole; find it, and soon!"

Alan rolled his eyes and beat the others back into the air when the game reengaged, looking feverishly for the Snitch. In weather like this, he'd play as dirty as he could just to find the bloody thing. He didn't care if he or Harry caught it first, but he was going to fucking find it already. He wanted to be _inside_.

A glimmer drew his eyes to Harry's side of the pitch, a shining light he nearly lost in a flash of lightning. Thunder boomed on its heels, and as his vision cleared, Alan tore up the pitch to where the glitter had been. A gust of wind caught him and he heard someone yelp. When he straightened out, Harry was glaring at him, and Alan could only shrug – he'd barely kept _himself_ from going end-over-end, nevermind considering someone else. He didn't even know what had happened.

Harry shouted something into the wind, and Alan shook his head, taking one hand to indicate his ears, but looking to the side showed him a glimmer of gold. He shot over Harry's shoulder in time to hear him swear, and then Alan forgot him completely in pursuit. The light zipped to the Slytherin goals – and disappeared. Alan braked, turned and marked Harry's pass before he turned to look for the Snitch again. The air rumbled, and the cold bit into his arms and body once more. The wind lashing his face grew quiet, and the cold sank into his flesh. Alan shivered once before he looked across the pitch. Harry was skimming nearby, and lightning illuminated a look of fear and the dark ground below. Alan looked down.

Dark cloaks stared up at him.

Vertigo slapped him in the face, and Alan forced himself back to the present. He was gasping for air, his chest heavy, and his limbs felt like lead. He couldn't feel his broom in his hand, but he could see – see the ground, see the clouds, the dim torches –

See Harry losing his grip on his broom.

Alan shoved the fear away from his mind, focused his eyes on Harry's form and shot forward, ducking the broom that shot off into the air. Alan spun and dived – Harry was falling, his arms loose, and Alan reached down and grabbed the Gryffindor's forearm. The weight rolled him under his broom, but he hooked his legs around it and held on. His grip on Harry's arm slipped, and Alan removed his hands from his broom completely to double his grip. Hanging by his knees, he held on with both hands to the dead weight of his friend, twenty feet above the pitch – and the mass of black-cloaked Dementors watching him in silent attention.

The cold swamped him again. His awareness receded, his body locked in place, his flesh ice on Harry's frigid arm, blood rushing in his ears. The pillar fell towards him – the sound of the basilisk landing on the stone floor – the dark figure drinking the blood of the unicorn – his uncle Green, bloody and delirious, poisoned during a jabberwocky hunt – Green again, in Louis' arms, unresponsive, his face blistered and burned, and Louis panicked for the first time he'd ever seen. Alan felt a nervous laugh bubble and pop, the memories flying away to be replaced by green light and a cold, cruel snarl.

He didn't know when he lost his grip on Harry anymore than he knew when his legs slipped.

IIII

"God, Harry…"

Harry rolled away from the hand stroking his hair before he opened his eyes. A blurry figure, dark-haired, adult, wearing familiar red robes was on the bed, talking with someone else opposite.

"Harry?" The hand tentatively returned to his hair. Harry turned.

"Mother?" he whispered. He glanced at the white room and asked blearily, "Where are my glasses?"

Lily handed him a pair, and Harry slid them on before blinking. "Am I alright?"

"They _are_ new glasses," his father cut in. Harry turned to him on his other side and smiled. "Well, unless you think it's something else. Don't be afraid, you did get a little scrambled."

Harry laughed, his voice weak and hollow. "What happened? I remember getting really cold on my broom and looking for ice, but… nothing. I can't remember anything after that.

"You passed out, Harry." His mother stroked his hair gently. "The Dementors had come onto the pitch for all the excitement."

"Dementors!" Harry shot up. "What were they doing on the pitch? I – No! What about the game?"

Lily's mouth tightened dangerously, but James answered before she could scold.

"Harry, it's alright. The Slytherin seeker stopped looking when the Dementors came and caught you as you fell."

Harry blinked. "Prince caught me? Is he alright?"

His father frowned. "He's in a bed across the hall. He passed out not long after you did, but he halted your fall and got you closer to the ground. Dumbledore was able to drive off the Dementors and slow both your falls. You're fine; Poppy will probably release you come evening."

"What are they going to do about the game?"

"Either substitutes will be brought in, or the game will be replayed next week."

"They can't play without me!" Harry shouted, but his mother grabbed his ear and tugged. He remembered with dread the cold in his chest and pulled away, wrapping his arms around himself. "Dad, are the Dementors g-gone?"

His lips thinned. "No. Minister Fudge insists it was an isolated instance and will not happen again. It's okay, Harry." He leaned down to kiss his head. "I'm going to lean on him again next week. He'll see there's no use in having them here."

Harry nodded and shook the thoughts off, distracting himself with school. "If they played with substitutes, then it'd be Malfoy for Slytherin, but I don't know who'd they put in for Gryffindor." Harry bit his lip. "Ginny might do good. She'd do even better if she borrowed my broom, but really I would much rather play myself."

"I think they're leaning towards just continuing from where they were with replacements." His father sighed. "Want me to deliver your recommendation and your broom? Sirius caught it by the stands, so it at least survived your fall."

Harry nodded sullenly. He wanted to play, but the risk of facing another Dementor made him shake. He really didn't want to deal with that. Finally, he sighed and smiled at his mother.

"Well, so long as we don't lose miserably, I can pick it up later in the season."

Lily smoothed his hair back. "Are you going to want to watch?"

Harry shook his head. "Mother, you know I hate to just watch Quidditch."

"You got ecstatic at the thought of the World Cup." She grinned. "They're here in Britain next summer, remember?"

Harry spun on her. "Mum, that's _professional_ Quidditch. I'll be bloody lucky to ever go that far! I just don't like watching when I could be _playing_. Professional stuff is good to see."

"Alright, alright!" Lily laughed. "Plainly that was a mistake to question." She leaned down to kiss his forehead. "I'm sure your teammates will be eager to tell you the news of how it went. You just rest."

She sat back in the chair set next to his bed and then raised her eyebrows. Harry shuffled his hands in the blankets until he finally had to ask, "Is there anything I could read or do?"

His mother grinned and produced his satchel from her side. "I was wondering if you'd ask."

Harry stuck his tongue out and turned to fish through his bag, thoughts of Dementors and Quidditch pushed deliberately aside.

IIII

"Are you done picking a fight over it, Ron?" Harry asked.

"Ginny barely caught the Snitch!" Ron growled, rolling onto his stomach on the grass. "I still don't see how that's supposed to be encouraging."

Harry sighed. He and Ron were outside, drawn by a rare day without rain, doing homework, but it'd dissolved into another Quidditch argument. "If she'd had _practise,_ her first time on the field wouldn't have been so _close_. If you want to play Keeper you have _got_ to practise. Don't you see it yet? Oliver can teach you loads."

"Alright, I've given in already, haven't I?"

"Just making sure you remember it when you keep saying it's not going to make a difference."

Ron nodded glumly, picking at the grass, and then burst into a smile. "Merlin, I wish you'd been there to see Malfoy's face!"

"It would've been worth it, but Poppy was tyrannical." Harry shook his head. "Not a chance of getting out of there before evening."

Ron looked at him sidelong. "And you hate watching Quidditch, right?"

Harry blinked, surprised. "Yeah. I do."

"I remember, Harry." Ron shook his head. "And if you keep bugging me, I'll be on the team next year as Keeper so I won't be watching it anymore, either; not for Gryffindor at any rate. Are you really going to let Ginny be reserve Seeker?"

"I think she's buddying up to the Chasers, too," Harry answered, "but she's good as a Seeker, and it's easier to replace a Chaser than a Seeker."

"Probably do Chaser so she doesn't have only one year on the team." Ron grinned.

"Right." Harry nodded, turning to grab his satchel from the base of the tree. He still had homework to do, and he wasn't happy with his Transfiguration essay. On the far side of the tree, facing the lake, Neville and Hermione were hard at work, ignoring him and Ron – neither of them really cared about Quidditch, even if Hermione liked watching it.

Ron groaned and turned reluctantly to his own bag. "What homework do you have left?"

"Defence and Care, but I want to go back over McGonagall's essay." Harry fished around for it and then stopped. Something had caught his eye near the front doors of the school: a very familiar walk – three, actually. Alan was never far from Greengrass and Zabini, rather like Malfoy with Crabbe and Goyle. Further back, but still nearby, Tracey Davis was talking with Theodore Nott who looked to be ignoring her completely. Greengrass turned slightly, and Davis waved off from Nott and caught up.

"Them again," Ron spat, disgusted. "Don't they ever stay inside? Malfoy rarely struts out here to ruin our good day."

"He's probably trying to get a tan," Harry grumbled. Ron burst into laughter because the sun was tucked neatly behind darkening clouds... they'd have rain tonight, if not tomorrow.

Predictably, the group of Slytherins moved their way, Alan in front. Harry kept a scowl on his face. Neville and Hermione paused in their work and began to pack up, watching his approach cautiously. Neville turned and hissed at him not to pick a fight, but Harry didn't listen, luxuriantly stretching his legs and leaning against the tree, his wand in place at his wrist – ready to draw.

When Alan was close enough to talk, Harry spat, "If you're looking for thanks for the match last week, you can forget it."

"I'm not stupid, Potter. I didn't expect you to care that I wasn't willing to see you fall. I was just looking for a decent place to stretch out, and the rest of the ground is still muddy." He tapped the dirt near the tree and smiled. "Since you can't be doing anything useful here, I thought I'd ask for a chance to stay."

"Fuck off."

"No, th_ah_nk you," Alan drawled, exaggerating his accent. "I've got bettuh things to do. _Rictusempra_!"

Harry drew his wand and shielded with barely a moment's breath. The spell rebounded into Ron, and Harry was up on his feet, a spell already flying back. Prince dodged; Greengrass, behind him, ducked. Harry's eyes tracked her, and the next spell knocked him back a step until his feet tried to dance on the slick grass. He lost his balance and dropped, the counterspell out of his mouth moments later, followed by an offensive one back Alan's way. Alan shielded, and Zabini yelped. Alan and Harry both looked.

Neville had Harry's backpack in hand, his wand trained on the tall, black boy. Hermione was already at Ron's side, the Tickling Charm countered. Harry turned back and met Alan's eyes again before he surged to his feet, a blasting hex on its way. Alan shielded and was knocked backwards, returning fire. Harry felt a fierce sense of triumph, and beside him, Neville handed off the bags to Hermione and deflected a return hex from Zabini. Before long, the two battles had almost begun to cross paths, and students were coming from all sides to stop them.

They weren't fast enough.

Harry saw the effect in Alan before it hit him. Alan slowed in the middle of casting a spell, suddenly breaking off and turning away. Harry followed his frozen stare, and caught sight of the black cloaks the moment the cold hit him. Harry stumbled backwards into Neville as Alan grabbed Zabini's shoulder. The two boys turned sharply, and abruptly Zabini was holding Alan's weight as he collapsed. Harry tried to rely on Neville's support, but his friend went to his knees with him, shaking in fright. Neville, however, could still speak, still make his mouth work: better than Harry was doing.

"Hermione," Neville gasped, "Hermione, go to the school, get someone, anyone!"

Hermione choked and grabbed Ron, running for the gates, but the Dementors were closing in a lot faster. Harry's vision shook, and cold sweat was running down his back.

_Hello, Harry. How nice of you to join me._

Harry jerked in Neville's hold and frantically looked around. The Dementors weren't gliding in any hurry. Alan, Zabini, and Greengrass all looked grey: Alan holding Zabini's arms tightly as they knelt side-by-side. None of them seemed able to run, even as Davis pulled on Greengrass' arms, and Zabini tried valiantly to get his footing under Alan's dead weight. Greengrass sat down hard, whimpering and pulling free of Davis' grip. Davis finally stopped pulling and fled.

Many of the students who had moved to stop the fight had fled from the Dementors. A tall seventh-year hauled a shorter student over while a blonde girl grabbed a boy Harry thought he knew. The seventh-year Ravenclaw boy shouted, "_Expecto Patronum_!" and white mist poured from his wand. The boy he'd hauled over stood behind him and repeated the incantation to produce similar mist in much lesser qualities. The burly blond boy Harry thought he knew ran to the Slytherins and grabbed Zabini and Alan as the girl who'd dragged him joined the boys in casting the mist spell. The Dementors they were facing slowed their approach and avoided the white.

"Potter," the boy shouted. "Get up and move. Longbottom, c'mon!"

Harry couldn't feel his legs, but Neville pulled himself together and pulled him to his feet. Harry's head roared, grey fog closing in on him, and he blacked out.

IIII

The second time Harry woke up in the Hospital wing that month, he got to see his father screaming in the Minister's face. Needless to say, the Dementors were removed from the school, and Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw received twenty-five points each for their students' acts of valour, putting Ravenclaw in the lead for the two students who had stood and kept the Dementors at bay.

Harry promised Cedric Diggory – the Hufflepuff boy who had gotten them moving – that he would be cheering for him in the next match. Diggory just shrugged it off. Harry called him a typical Hufflepuff and got a laugh for it, but it meant that two weeks later, he was in the Quidditch stands with Ron, yelling gleefully at the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff match.

It didn't change much, but Cedric gave Cho Chang a good run for her money. In the end, it mostly fell on one player: a Chaser who had driven up the score.

"Shit!" Harry swore, standing to stare as Hooch blew her whistle sharply and called the foul. "He's worse than the Slytherins."

"Who?"

"The black-haired Chaser they have! Watch him; he's the tall one with the Nimbus. He's going for it _again –_ he's gonna – Oh, ouch! Hey, that was deliberate!" Hooch didn't blow the whistle again, and the Hufflepuff Keeper wiped the blood off his lip and returned the ball to play. Harry sat down hard and huffed. "Do you know who he is?"

"I think he's a Hodges," Ron shrugged. "What, you know him?"

"Just the name." Harry shook his head. "Sirius and my dad gripe about them all the time, but no details. Just one of those names."

"Like a Malfoy?"

"Nah, more like when they gripe about Gregory Davis. Pain in the rump, but not like it's a big one. They just don't like them."

Ron punched his shoulder with a grin and pointed. "Hey, they're going for the Snitch!"

Harry sat up eagerly again and then shook his head. "Nah, they can't be – wait, there it is! They're almost – shit!" A Bludger split the Seekers apart, and Harry grabbed the seat ahead and shouted, "Get back on track, Diggory! Move it!"

Chang, however, was on the Snitch already, and her hand closed over it, ending the match – a hundred and fifty points onto the Ravenclaw's lead, nearly two hundred points high.

Harry punched the seat and dropped back, upset. "Dammit."

"Ah well, Harry." Ron patted him on the back and stood. "It was a good match."

Harry grinned. "Would've been more fun if I'd been playing. That Bludger wouldn't have knocked me so far off. And you'd have caught the Quaffle before it slammed into your face."

Ron went pink and led the way down the stairs. Harry punched his shoulder playfully, but he got no more answer. Harry gleefully led the way around the pitch and the other stands. Passing the near stand, he stopped. Alan was standing and listening to Chang talking to him and his friends. Harry felt a twinge of jealousy, and before he'd thought it through, he spoke.

"Are the girls here so much more interesting than any of the American ones you know, or is it just you?"

Harry nearly went pink; Chang certainly did, and when she would have called him on it, Alan just smiled and responded,

"Worried about me poaching your crush, Potter?"

Harry drew his wand first, but as usual, the hex bounced off Alan's shield and into the crowd. The students surged – some trying to come forward to stop them, some ducking away from the rebound. Harry moved forward, away from anyone grabbing at his arms, coming even closer as Alan did the same. Behind his shoulder, Daphne Greengrass was yelling encouragement for Alan as she, Zabini, and Davis got in the way of anyone against Alan. Harry felt another, stronger twinge of jealousy – and then Daphne caught his eyes. Harry lost track of his thoughts, but moved to get Alan out of the way.

A sharp twang preceded Alan's yelp of pain as he slammed backwards into the crowd. He landed and coughed, choking on his breath. Harry remembered with dread the spell he'd used – a blasting hex that would bruise ribs if it hit the chest. It had been strong enough to break his shield, and while it had been weakened, it hadn't weakened enough. Alan wasn't in danger, but he would definitely be in pain – and really unhappy. And so, too, would be –

"Potter!" Severus Snape barked, coming through the crowd, McGonagall on his heels. He paled as he saw Alan, but as he was getting to his feet he turned his anger back on Harry. "Irresponsible imbecile, you are playing with fire! Two _weeks_ detention, and fifty points from Gryffindor!"

Ron started to argue, but Harry stepped on his foot and turned it into a yelp. Severus turned away to help Alan keep his feet and get to the Hospital wing where Poppy would probably torment him and keep him until morning for something she could heal in five seconds flat. Harry didn't argue his punishment – if Alan hadn't had a shield up, the force of the spell could have _broken_ his ribs... a thought Harry didn't want to admit to.

He'd never really thought about how strong he was, but he'd seen evidence of it before, and been warned several times. It wasn't until moments like this that it really came home. It had happened only once before in a duel; during that summer, in fact, when he was sparring with his father and broken through his shield in a moment of distraction when his mother had hollered about supper.

Harry's face abruptly turned bright red and his steps faltered.

Ron caught up and finally asked. "What are you blushing for?"

"Nothing."

"What happened back there? You totally beat him!" Ron grinned. "He's gonna be fine; you know how good Poppy is."

"Yeah. I just got distracted, and my spell was too strong."

"So you're really better than him?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't know for sure, but he was pretty sure he and Alan were at least equal in power. Alan just hadn't expected such a strong spell. Ron was right though: he _had_ won. He smiled faintly.

"Yeah, I am." Harry grinned faintly. He didn't think Greengrass had really minded, either.

"So what are you blushing for?" When Harry didn't answer, Ron finally asked, disgust in his voice, "Were you staring at Greengrass?"

Harry felt his blush darken. "I was not."

"You were too! What do you see in her? I mean, she has a chest and all now and she's not bad-looking –"

"Ron, shut up!"

IIII

"Hermione…" Neville whined. "C'mon, the game's over! You don't have to keep hiding in the library, you know!"

"Go ahead, head on back to the common room," Hermione barked. "I'm still working."

"Hermione, what homework do you have left?" He prodded the pencil that was inching across the library table like a worm. "You've been playing with Enchantments for two hours now and done at least six essays. Muggle Studies alone was disgustingly long, and it was something even _I_ know."

"I've still not done Charms or Astronomy, and in case you've forgotten, we have Charms on Monday!"

"So finish it. You've done Arithmancy and Transfiguration, and you've had Herbology done since Wednesday." Neville picked up the pencil, which continued its inching motions. Hermione flicked her wand at it, and it wrapped itself around his fingers. Neville winced – it was gripping him tightly – but let it continue to constrict until he tapped it with his wand and made it straighten back out. "Hermione, c'mon. You're killing yourself."

"I'm doing fine!" she snapped shrilly.

"You're half asleep," he returned. "You're killing yourself!"

"Don't argue with me!"

"Bullshit!"

"_Neville_!"Hermione snapped her head up from the table and glared at him. "Don't swear!"

"You're not my mother!" Neville argued. "You're too stupid for that – you could drop Divination, Muggle Studies, and Ancient Runes, Hermione, and people will still bloody well gape at your classes!"

Hermione glared at him and began to stuff her books into her bag, her motions jerky and stiff. "You – are – bloody – _stupid_!" she shrieked, and turned to walk out. Her bag dragged on her arm and began to slide. Neville pushed his chair out and moved after her – just as her bag fell and slammed onto his foot.

Neville cursed so badly Hermione straightened from grabbing her bag and slapped him, tears in her eyes. "How _dare_ you! I'm surprised your mother doesn't wash your mouth out!"

He swore at her again before yelling, "You nearly broke my damn foot, Hermione! I think that's a fucking problem, girl!"

"I am not your girl!"

Neville's rude response was cut off as Hermione pointed her wand and said, "_Scourgify_!"

Neville was left scraping soap out of his mouth as Hermione ran back to the common room.

IIII

Alan scraped the bottom of his ice cream bowl with his spoon and stifled the childish desire to lick it out. Blaise would have clocked him on the head for it, and he was plenty old enough not to do so anymore.

"Hey, how long does Harry have detentions with Severus again?" Tracey Davis asked.

Alan answered without looking, "Two weeks. Ends next Saturday – the week before our next Hogsmeade weekend."

"You don't sound torn up about getting hexed like that," Daphne said.

"I'm not," Alan answered, still looking for another dessert he could top off his meal with. "Trust me, I've met with worse for less reason."

Alan noticed Tracey and Daphne look at each other across the table and then away. He ignored it and then stood to head back to the common room. Almost immediately, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise left their food and followed him out the door. He dodged a short, blonde girl, but the others did not. Daphne hissed, and Alan turned to find her face to face with the first-year girl.

"Let's go." Blaise grabbed Alan's arm and moved them out of the Entrance Hall, leaving Daphne to her conversation. Alan grudgingly obeyed, but she wasn't long – not five minutes later, Daphne stormed in and planted herself in front of the couch Alan, Blaise, and Tracey were sitting on.

"I refuse to go home this Christmas!" she announced. Everyone in the common room paused. "I flatly refuse to return to the fools in my house and their obnoxious ways, and that is _final_!"

Blaise blinked at her. "Okay… Point made."

"Lovely." Daphne sat down at the end of the couch and sighed. "I hate my sister. First she has a filthy, perverted rat, and then next she – and my _parents_ – claim she never had one."

"What's the point in that?" Alan asked. "It's just a rat."

"You do remember the Dementors, right?" Tracey asked pointedly.

"Yes…" Alan stared at her, hinting she should move on and quickly. He would remember the Dementors for a very, very long time and had no desire to recall the memories they brought into the front of his mind.

"They were here because of the man Peter Pettigrew," Tracey explained quickly. "To keep him out, supposedly, but they were here because of a rat _Animagus _caught by a seventh-year girl. People haven't wanted non-albino male rats for years because of him."

Alan rubbed his forehead. "An Animagus is what, again?"

"A wizard or witch who can turn into an animal form," Blaise said.

"Wasn't it Potter's father who led that inquisition?" Alan asked tiredly, adding offhandedly, "Why did no one ever try _that_ at Salem?"

"Yeah, he and his friends were those who helped Peter achieve his Animagus," Tracey answered.

"Why do you know this?"

"When Potter, Black, and Longbottom all registered as Animagi at the same time, everyone took notice. My dad's a _solicitor_, so of course he noted it." Tracey smiled. "He's dark enough to keep the Malfoy's happy, but he married a muggle, so nobody knows what to do with him anymore."

"Your mother makes social events very interesting," Daphne agreed.

Alan put his head in his hands and tried to think past his Charms homework. It was Wednesday – Harry had Astronomy that evening, which meant he very well could be in the library now. Alan put his papers together and stood.

"I'm going to the library."

The three of them met each other's eyes and sighed. Alan smiled pleasantly at them and walked out – none of them followed. He'd taught Blaise quickly that he knew where the library was – thank you very much – and didn't need or want an escort there and back again. It made it much easier to meet up with Harry.

He bypassed Hermione in her corner with a faint smirk that she was completely oblivious to and found Harry tucked in the corner of two shelves near their table, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed. Alan crouched in front of him for five minutes before he finally snapped his fingers to summon his attention. It took him three tries and much irritation before he succeeded. Harry had become Professor Zen's favourite student – Alan was still solidly his least. Alan personally disliked the work and found Occlumency exasperating, no matter how his father tried to encourage him. He was learning... slowly and mostly because he knew how strict Louis would be if he didn't.

He still didn't like it.

"What do you want, Alan?" Harry asked, stretching his neck out.

"Daphne has announced she is not going home to her lying parents who claim her sister never had a pet rat."

"What's her rat have to do with –" Harry fell silent and stared at him. "You're joking. Her sister's pet was…"

"Pettigrew." Alan shrugged. "The others agree."

"Your friends?"

"You could call them that." Alan smiled playfully, and Harry stretched forward to shove his shoulder. "Careful, Harry," he teased. "Don't you be doing something you'll regret in a moment of distraction."

Harry went nice and red, and Alan stood and bounced back quickly. His friend pulled his bag onto his shoulder and scowled. "Stop that!"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be teasing you, should I?" He grinned. "But really, do tell me if you can verify the claim that Astoria is lacking a pet rat."

"I'll ask Melanie." Harry nodded. "Now scram. I have other things to be doing."

Alan nodded and made for their table. "Next time, don't practise meditation in public unless you don't mind being oblivious."

He didn't look back to catch the rude expression he knew he'd receive.

* * *

A/N: Hah! I panicked early enough that hopefully this will actually go up on time. How's them apples?

Fire & Napalm


	13. Chapter 13

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Thirteen**:

Neville had patiently waited three weeks since Hermione had dropped her bag on his foot – one of arguments and two of silence – and he was now sick of it. It was the last Hogsmeade weekend before the holiday, so when Hermione would've stayed behind, settling down to more work, he grabbed her shoulder and hauled her out of her seat, much to Harry's amusement and Ron's dismay. She swore at him, kicked him, and bit him once, but Neville had dealt with his little sister in a fit before. A few students appeared to consider interfering, but most were of the same opinion: Hermione needed to take a break.

After she was out of the castle doors – and after McGonagall had refused to step in – Hermione finally calmed down and stopped fighting.

"You can stop hauling me around now, Neville," Hermione said.

Neville tentatively let go and then took two large steps away before answering. "Good to know."

"I'm not that angry," she pouted. "I have all Christmas to work, after all."

"Are you going home?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "I'm staying here to use the library. You?"

"Home," Neville nodded, "with Harry and my sister. There's a Ministry get-together that's always fun, once we ditch the Patil twins."

"Hey," Harry said, "stop giving her a bad impression! We don't ditch them."

"We just strategically avoid them, then?" Neville offered.

"That works."

"Boys," Hermione scolded, grinning. She pushed Neville's shoulder, but smiled brightly his way. Neville grinned back, catching a glimpse of Ron's face and then stubbornly ignoring him. He didn't want to worry about Ron being jealous; that wasn't his problem. It was Ron's.

Harry was observant enough to distract Ron with questions about how their Quidditch practise was going. It got them into the town of Hogsmeade, at least, and once there, Neville laughed as Harry sent Ron straight into Honeydukes with an encouraging push.

"Sorry!" Ron blurted. "Harry, you idiot, you pushed me into someone!"

"So apologize," Harry returned unrepentantly. "Not my problem."

"Sorry H-Hannah," Ron stammered.

Neville peeked in and grinned: Ron was the bright Weasley red from his ears to his neck. Neville met Harry's eyes, and he had to look away before he burst out laughing. Bowing Hermione inside, Neville then split off to find the sugar he wanted – and a few things for Nanna and Melanie, the latter of whom would probably raid his pockets the moment he was back in the castle.

Hermione tugged at his cloak to come with her to the register, where Ron and Harry were already dissecting their handfuls of ice mice and two cockroach clusters they hadn't decided to eat yet. Hermione had a number of Toothflossing Stringmints, and Neville had Peppermint Toads and Fizzing Whizzbees. Taking the bag and pocketing it, Neville and Hermione pushed Harry and Ron out the door and turned up the lane.

They didn't get far.

"Say, it's the Weasel and co."

Neville watched Harry turn with an ugly look on his face. "Hello, Zabini. Prince," Harry offered, disgusted.

"Afternoon." Prince smiled lightly, his face inordinately pleasant. "Blaise, be a nice boy. Weasels are useful."

"I suppose they could be." The black boy shrugged. "They finally popped out a girl – if she breeds like her mother, she'd be a catch for marriage... if her family weren't so lowbred."

"_Locomotor Mortis_!" Ron yelled. Zabini's legs snapped together and dumped him in the snow. Prince quickly looked away, possibly stifling a laugh if Neville wasn't mistaken, before he turned back to glare at Harry. Neville snorted himself, but he grabbed Harry's arm before his friend could send a spell at the boy.

"Harry!" he hissed, "Don't start, for _once_! Hermione, help me!"

Hermione stepped between Harry and Prince, just as Tracey Davis did the same opposite them. Separated and being hauled further apart, Prince sneered one last time and quickly countered the curse on Zabini. If Neville was seeing right, he also suspected the black boy was blushing. Whatever Prince said earned him another bark from the Zabini heir before the Slytherins split off in the other direction.

Ron growled.

"He so deserved it! Why'd you stop Harry? I'd have liked to see them put in their place."

"He doesn't need more detentions, Ron!" Hermione hissed. "As it is, there isn't a chance in Hell of him making Prefect now!"

Harry shook them off and smiled. "Who wants to be Prefect?"

Neville cleared his throat.

"Other than you and Percy, Neville."

Neville cleared his throat again.

"Oh… Sorry, Hermione."

Neville didn't believe a word of it, but there wasn't much point in pressing the matter. Catching Hermione's eye, he rolled his eyes. Hermione smiled, her cheeks pink in the winter wind, and quickly looked away.

"We can check out the Three Broomsticks," she suggested, "It's pretty cold out here. I'd kill for a nice hot Butterbeer."

IIII

Harry, Neville, and Ron got on the train home the next day with many other students. Few kids were staying at Hogwarts – Alan had told him last they'd spoken that Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass were staying with him at the school, along with a fifth-year girl he knew. It was going to be a very empty castle – perfect for talking to his friend – but Harry had promised last year he'd come home.

With the Minister holding a Christmas party, Harry was sure staying would have been the better idea, but it was too late now.

Christmas day, with the presents all put away, Harry got into some decent dress robes, passing over the gift he'd received last year, and joined his parents in the Floo lobby. His mother moved to straighten the shoulders immediately.

"Mother!"

"Hold still." She smiled and stepped back. "There. That brings the colour out better. Blue works for you; you'd have done fine if you'd ended up Ravenclaw."

"Only the women are going to even notice it's blue," Harry groused, "It's just the collar, Mum. Other than that, it's as black as my school robes."

He got a raised set of eyebrows and blushed. He was grateful when Nanna joined them and his father pulled out the Floo powder and led the way. Harry went through second and ducked the attendant on the far side, brushing off the soot himself. As a family, they were pointed to the doors where music came from and delved into the gathered crowd. They'd hardly entered when the Minister found them.

"James! How charming to see you; brilliant to have you here, brilliant."

"My pleasure, Minister Fudge." Harry watched his father smile and stifled one of his own. He knew very well what his father thought of Fudge. "You remember my family, don't you?"

"Of course!" Minister Fudge turned and shook Lily's hand, completely ignoring Harry and Nanna. "I'll catch you around here, then? There's a buffet along the dance floor, and plenty of friends attending! Do see it all, do enjoy." He turned back to his conversation with one man Harry didn't know, and two people he did. Both turned to greet his father.

"James," Rufus Scrimgeour said. "Another near miss, I hear?"

"It's always hard to trap a rat, Scrimgeour." James grinned. "Otherwise you'd have caught him years ago." The woman nearby snorted into her glass. "Good to see you, too, Amelia."

"A pleasure." She smiled. "You and your family all look well. Harry, Nanna, Lily." She nodded to each of them. Rufus Scrimgeour didn't even blink. James gave him another tight smile and gently gave Harry a push towards the far wall. He didn't need any more encouragement. Taking Nanna's hand, Harry dodged through the other guests and made for the food.

Nanna was grumbling, "Bastard never did like you, Harry."

"Nanna, quiet; mother would wash your mouth out if she heard that. It's nothing."

"Nothing? He hates you because you're a better wizard than him!"

Harry stopped and put a hand over her mouth. "Nanna, hush! Don't make it worse. I didn't do it on purpose, you know."

When he removed his hand she spat, "Are you gonna blame Neville next for daring you to take his wand?"

Harry rolled his eyes and let go, stalking off without her. She ran at his heels, as he'd known she would, and they stepped up to the buffet between two young men. One of them immediately grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back.

"Children should have manners! Move in elsewhere, boy!"

"Look who's talking!" Harry spat, but he ducked away and stepped closer on the far side of the guy. When it looked like he might try to drive him off further, a dark-skinned woman about the man's age stepped between them and began to pick through the offerings. She looked vaguely familiar, although Harry knew he'd never seen her before.

"Get out of my way, Janice," the man growled.

"Quiet, Noble," she ordered. "Leave the boy be."

"I don't have to listen to a woman!"

Janice straightened – she was the same height as Noble, stately and proud. "Who's going to impress the Aurors more: you, or one of their _sons_ and Desdemona's eldest?"

He trembled. "I think Minister Fudge likes my father more than he likes you!"

"And the moment my mother flaunts her rack, he'll shut up and back down. Go bother my sister – I'm tired of listening to you yap."

Nanna grumbled something about arrogant purebloods under her breath. Harry shushed her again and turned back to finding something to eat as the boy caved in and left.

"You're a short kid, aren't you, Potter?" Janice asked. "I expected you to be taller."

Harry turned to the woman, curious. "I'm not that short among my year." Well, he was, but she didn't know that. He just hadn't grown yet – he _was_ born late in the year.

She grinned. "My brother's in your year, and he says you are."

"Who's your brother?"

"Blaise Zabini."

That explained a lot – both her comments about her mother and her staring down the other man. The Zabinis were as noble as the Malfoys and his own family. The old, moneyed families easily impressed Fudge; those that weren't were almost beneath the Minister's notice.

"Who was it you backed down?" Harry had to ask.

"Noble Thatass." She smiled. "Ostentatious little bugger, but his father was Minister a couple of decades ago and still talks like he is."

Harry brushed that off; he wasn't interested in Ministry history. "Thank you for your interference."

"No problem. Have a good evening, I suppose."

She wandered off with a plate full of food, and Harry bumped Nanna back to getting her own snacks. With a plate in hand, Harry turned around to see if he knew anyone present. The majority of people present were adults: Ministry workers or nobility. Even halfway across the room, Lucius Malfoy was easily recognizable, which meant his wife and son would both be present. That also made it likely Mr Nott would be present – they tended to stick together for events. Harry made a note to avoid them, as usual.

In the group in front of him were Amos Diggory and his wife, as well as Ratan Patil, the father of the Patil twins, with a man who was likely Susan's father – Amelia Bones' nephew; he couldn't remember his name and had barely met him at all. He worked with Portkeys, not law.

The young men had left, leaving him open to seeing Narcissa Malfoy amidst a cluster of women at the far end of the table. At the opposite end of the table were two men with Barty Crouch.

"Look, Harry! There's Uncle Frank and Sirius!" Nanna exclaimed.

Harry turned and smiled, raising a cup to his mouth. They were being greeted by Fudge, but his father had already joined the conversation to Fudge's left, where a man and woman he didn't know were talking with a tall black man in Auror red.

Harry considered going there, but there were youths between them he wasn't sure he wanted to pass. One of the boys turned, and his apprehension vanished. Harry smiled and moved forward.

"Cedric, good to see you."

"Harry," Cedric grinned. "Nice to see you, too." He turned to his companions. "Daniel, Julianna, Ajit – Harry Potter. Harry, Daniel Davis, Julianna Ellsmare, and Ajit Patil; you know his sisters, I'm sure." Cedric's eyes were laughing. They'd been at enough events together to know how little Harry thought of the Patil girls. Ajit snorted, smiling and unoffended.

"Pleasure to meet you," Harry said. He'd seen them all before, but at a distance. Julianna's family were elitist, and Daniel's father was a hardcore Slytherin politician: he was Tracey Davis' sister. Ajit was a seventh-year Ravenclaw – Harry was pretty sure Daniel and Julianna were both Slytherin. Fishing for something to say, Harry finally settled on, "Pity you didn't catch the Snitch last game, eh?"

"Wouldn't have made much difference." Cedric shrugged. "We were getting creamed anyways."

"That Ravenclaw Chaser was vicious," Harry agreed. "I dread to think what he'd be like as a Beater."

"Don't suggest that to him," Ajit warned. "He might take you seriously."

"He's on your team," Harry pointed out, curious.

"He's also an arse," Ajit said bluntly. "Vicious brute. He'd have been beaten up years ago if his brother hadn't kept him in line, and now he's in the upper years and no one dares."

"Who is he?"

"Jonas Hodges. His brother, Atarah, is in my dorm." Ajit looked Harry over and added, "Atarah's the guy who used the Patronus on the Dementors... middle of November, remember?"

"Ah." Julianna smiled. "Carlton bitched about him for two weeks after that. Hated that Atarah had dragged him into it. No offence to you, Potter, but neither Hell nor high water would've gotten me near those things."

Harry smiled bitterly. "No worries, it wouldn't get me there, either."

All four of them laughed, but Nanna grabbed his shirt and tugged sharply. Harry rolled his eyes and excused himself, taking Nanna over to the crowd their parents were in – now joined by Frank and Sirius. Nanna immediately went to Melanie while Harry solemnly shook hands with Neville before breaking out laughing.

"Hey kid!" Sirius swung an arm around his neck and grinned. "How's the crowd in your eyes?"

"Let me go!" He got free and then answered, "Pretty stilted, I suppose."

"Careful." A pleasant woman Harry didn't know smiled and nodded to the man opposite Sirius. "My husband might end up taking offence if you call the majority 'Dark'. He is, after all, one of them."

Her husband scowled at her. "Is that insubordination?"

"Of course not, honey," she simpered. "'Tis nothing more than truth."

"Hey!" He had little recourse, however, as his present company all laughed. Harry frowned and tried to place him – he looked familiar.

"Sorry, Greg." Frank grinned. "But you lost that argument when you married her."

He frowned. "I thought she'd be more agreeable than the witches I knew. Turns out she's worse, and I can't seem to get rid of her no matter what I try."

Harry watched the woman lean to whisper – perfectly audibly – to his mother. "He has yet to try very hard, but I let him keep telling people that."

"Virulent as a bundimun," he repeated, nodding smartly at Frank. "But I have two brilliant children, and a healthy boy, so I have little else to complain of."

Harry sent his father a curious look, and he finally got an explanation.

"Harry, this is Gregory Davis, and his wife, Holly, who happens to be a muggle."

Holly curtseyed, but her husband merely inclined his head with a wry grin.

"I can't be too happy to meet what my daughter calls a completely reprehensible hellion. You don't _look_ argumentative, but then again neither did Holly… Come to think of it, neither does her daughter. Of all things, my son is the most well behaved. Doesn't act like a well-bred boy at all. After all, is a Malfoy not the epitome of breeding?" He looked to the far corner where Harry guessed the man to be. "Of course, mine have the inexcusable handicap of muggle blood and shall never be so dignified."

His words were typical elitist fare, but delivered with a wry twist and a face so self-righteous he managed the finest mockery Harry had ever seen. If he hadn't been looking at him in this group of people, or hadn't met his wife, he'd have thought him serious – and seriously deluded.

Music started to play, and the groups disappeared to some degree onto the floor beyond the tables that was open for dancing. It wasn't a large number of people, but Harry glimpsed the Patil girls winding their ways through the crowds towards them. Harry grabbed Neville's shoulder and quickly excused themselves from the conversation to slip back past Cedric to the snack table. It didn't work.

"Harry!" Parvati simpered. "Please, dance with me?"

"Neville, please?"

They looked at each other with dread, but manners ordered them to comply. Harry slid a blank expression onto his face, and almost immediately, Parvati began to chatter.

"Have you seen Astoria's dress? Finest material I've seen; I have to ask my mother about it. It's been a good year, hasn't it, except for the Dementors. Weren't those terrifying? You were face-to-face to them three times, I've heard! Are they really that terrible?" She searched his face intently, finally silent. Harry wished he could let it stretch, but habit forced him to answer.

"Yes, it was three times. They bring up your worst memories. It's not fun."

"Didn't you nearly die first and second year?" she asked, eyes wide.

"It wasn't that close," Harry hedged. "Just bad luck and bad choices. I was stupid."

"You were so _brave_!"

Harry deliberately stepped on her foot, and Parvati yelped, stopping to massage it. Harry insincerely apologized and offered to help her sit down. She shook her head and brushed it off, making him continue until he'd finished the dance. By mutual agreement, Harry and Neville bowed, released their hands and fled in opposite directions so they couldn't trade off. Padma was tailing him, so Harry asked the first girl he saw.

"Susan!" he panted, and then smiled, asking. "Would you like to dance?"

She turned bright red. "Oh! Um, sure, Harry."

He drew her out onto the dance floor past a furious Padma and began the steps, hand in hand. He smiled brightly. "Thank you."

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder. "Avoiding the Patils again?"

"Nonsense." He didn't bother to hide his smile. "Of course not."

He caught sight of Neville dancing with Parvati and smirked. Susan looked over her shoulder and giggled.

"Every man for himself, eh?"

"Not my fault all the girls our age were on this side."

"That's so mean, Harry."

"You don't look like you mean it."

Susan ducked her head. Harry wondered just how long her braid was, and then his eyes slid further down. They went back up quickly, a blush on his cheeks. Yes, she was a girl, and she had blossomed on her chest much like –

"How'd you take the Quidditch loss?"

Susan gave him a blank look. "I don't keep up with Quidditch."

"No intent to try out?"

She shook her head. "Is that all you think about?"

"Of course not!" Harry frowned. "But it's a valid question. Sorry I asked." No, actually, he wasn't. He'd gotten what he wanted: she was too indignant to call him on his blush. He was sorry that the only thing he could think of in a pinch was Quidditch, as it killed their conversation for the rest of the dance. Harry slid away with a bow and went for the buffet table. Neville met him there, frowning.

"Hey," Harry cut him off, "it wasn't my fault all the girls were on my side of the floor. You should have just run."

"I did," Neville insisted, hurt. "I ran into their mother."

Harry winced.

Across the table from them, Harry noticed a group approaching. He recognized two of them, and he did not like them one bit. However, when he moved to leave, Neville grabbed his shoulder and hissed, "Here come the Patils, Harry!" He met his eyes, panicked. "Where do we go?"

Harry glanced to the girls and the approaching men and finally tugged Neville down, "Here!" He ducked under the tablecloth and then froze. It went all the way to the floor, end to end, and two house elves nearby froze as well. Harry put his finger to his lips and whispered, "Please? Five minutes, promise!"

The little creatures pursed their lips and nodded curtly, turning their attention back up to the table – which, it turned out, was transparent from underneath. The elves were there to watch for poison, traditionally, but Neville stared up, his eyes wide. They'd never gone under the tables with the elves before. He moved to reach up and one of the elves swatted his hand. He didn't try again, but they could hear the men above clearly.

"I thought I saw those two Auror boys here…" a stately black man muttered. "The Potter and Longbottom heirs."

"They're always somewhere." Lucius shrugged. "Underfoot at all the events with their parents. Ah, but there's the Patil girls. You'll see them run from them at all times, of course. Draco does much the same."

He made a curious noise. "They're respectable girls. Polite, well bred, intelligent but vacuous. I don't see why they dislike them, but boys will be boys."

"Your sons are here, I see," Lucius observed. "Bartholomew, I think?"

"Bartholomew and Salvador," he answered. "The elder is perfect, but his brother is…unsatisfactory."

Lucius snorted. "Insubordinate, I see. I never see that from Draco. I don't see any problems with your boy, either, Leopold."

The oldest man there, the one Harry liked least, leaned down to select something and shrugged. "He is tractable, but it takes a firm hand. He is not happy with me, but he obeys."

"Boys need not like their fathers, just obey." Lucius looked around. "I don't see him here."

"He declined to come home this year, citing the extra work. I pressed him to take the full schedule of classes; I would be hypocritical to censure him for doing the work."

"You do not suspect he is avoiding you?" the stranger asked.

"Of course I do, Barnabas," Nott spat, "but he listens still. The boy will take my place one day; I don't wish him to be a snivelling coward. I will not have you questioning my choices when you have nothing of the status I possess."

Nott turned and stalked away. Lucius and Barnabas shared a cautious look before following him. Neville sighed and turned to peek out. It was apparently clear, as he ducked out. Harry nodded to the elves and followed. He ran into Neville's back: they'd stepped out at Dumbledore's feet.

The Headmaster's eyes were twinkling brilliantly. "Hiding, I see?"

Harry flushed; Neville ducked his head.

"I believe the Patil girls are at the far side of the hall right now, and you are free to wander the dance floor. Might I have a word, Harry?"

Harry looked around, but found no reason to say no. Neville slipped off on his own, leaving Harry to try not to look up at their Headmaster. He wasn't sure where he stood with Dumbledore anymore, not after the year before and his current state in school: fielding more detentions than Quidditch practices. And then there were the talks with his family, the strange looks, the odd leeway he received….

"How is this year going for you, Harry?"

"Aside from the Dementors, I'm having fun." Harry stared at him, eyes hard.

Dumbledore appeared unmoved. "You have my apologies for the Dementors. I got them removed at my first chance. I have to wonder if you are really having fun. I seem to remember you receiving a few detentions this term."

Harry tried not to smile, really. It didn't exactly work. "I'm doing fine, really."

"I see you are following in your father's footsteps this year."

That did it. "I don't see why you're bothering, Headmaster, I'm McGonagall's problem, not yours. Excuse me." Harry turned quickly and located two youths he recognized offhand. Not bothering to be specific, he slid in behind them. He received two suspicious backward glares and quickly corrected himself as to where he knew them from: he'd seen them around Alan before. They were both Slytherins.

"Excuse me." Harry ducked out, but didn't go far. Dumbledore was still watching where he'd disappeared to, and there wasn't a clear line out of the way.

The black boy he'd interrupted shrugged lightly and glared across the room himself. The girl, also black, wasn't any happier.

"Watching for your brother?" she growled.

"Yes," the boy answered.

"See mine anywhere?"

"Nope. Your father's still making kissing noises at Fudge's arse, and your mother is gossiping. So is mine, at that. My dad's kissing up to Malfoy and Nott."

That made him Barnabas' son, Harry noted: most likely the younger one. Harry couldn't pin down the girl, but he thought she was two years above them – making her a fifth-year Slytherin. Alan had mentioned a black fourth-year before, named Salvador. He couldn't verify either. They wouldn't trust him, not at all.

"Shit, that's my brother." The girl abruptly grabbed the black boy closer and kissed him, short and curt. They pulled apart for only a moment. "Dance with me!" she demanded.

It appeared he was plenty willing to comply. Harry slipped off, trying to get away further. He stopped dead before long. A tall, stunning black woman was looking down at Barty Crouch with hungry eyes. She was wearing heels that made her taller than the Ministry official and a dress that emphasized her chest – or, as her daughter had so nicely put it, her rack. Harry had to admit, Mrs Zabini was very impressive in that area.

"Desdemona, I am indeed sorry for your loss, but I have lost my own wife and still mourn her. Unlike you, I have no wish to remarry."

"I am sorry to have reminded you of it." Her hand fell to his shoulder. "I am just so shocked by Thew's death, so sudden – it leaves me bereft of all sense."

Harry heard someone near him cough abruptly. He glanced up to a light brunet man beside him, who was struggling not to laugh, standing next to Gregory Davis.

It appeared to have drawn Mr Crouch's attention, however. He smiled deviously.

"I do believe that Mr Templar has no such qualms. Perhaps he will be better suited to appeasing your grief."

"How very kind of you, Mr Crouch. I hope your dear wife knows she is missed."

She turned and smiled brilliantly. The brunet went red, but he offered his hand nonetheless.

"Ms Zabini," he greeted.

"Of course, my dear man. You are Mr Templar?"

"Kenner, please."

"And who are you to Mr Crouch?"

"An assistant. We work together in the Ministry, keeping track of the international communication."

"And you have no hang-ups, do you?"

He went red again. "I believe Mr Crouch was implying I have never married and am open for your fishing, Ms Zabini."

She smiled at him, a catty smile. "And are you?"

Abruptly, Kenner gave her a smile back that was just as devious. "I believe I have much less money than you usually dive after, Ms Zabini, but I won't deny you are a beautiful woman. My boyfriend might object, though."

Desdemona burst into delighted laughter, and Harry felt his respect for Kenner Templar rise.

"Why Kenner, that was so very Slytherin of you!"

"A pity indeed, but I was never a contemporary of yours, or even Gregory's."

"Oh?"

Mr Davis stepped in, "What he's saying is, he's too damn honest for us Slytherins – he got shunted into Hufflepuff and simply scared his housemates."

Desdemona was staring at him with a new respect, and Harry was trying to back off when Lucius Malfoy stepped over. He scanned past both Davis and Templar before settling on Ms Zabini and walking over, an expression of sorrow on his face.

"Why, Ms Zabini, I believe I have heard that once again you are a widow. What sad fate you have, my dear, to lose so many husbands so quickly."

"Mr Malfoy!" She smiled facetiously. "So delightful to see you here, and so wonderful to have your condolences. It is true, my Thew got himself lost looking for the kitchen and wandered into a cupboard I hadn't yet untrapped from our last Head of the Family. She'd been quite the vicious woman, I must say."

"Nothing like you at all, of course," Mr Malfoy agreed. Templar coughed again; Harry grinned and ducked away into the crowd further. While it would be funny, he had other things in mind. The children were going to be sent off to bed before the party wound down, and he didn't want to get kidnapped by the Patils again. He wanted away from the dance floor and back with Neville. It wasn't as hard to find him as he'd thought: he was already hanging near their parents, looking with the others to where his father was very politely speaking to a stuck-up couple and their daughter. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Is that Astoria Greengrass?"

"Yes," Melanie spat, "that's the bitch."

Harry turned and found the blonde first-year girl leaning against her mother, glaring across the space at Melanie. Several feet away, Nanna was talking animatedly to a girl by Mr Diggory's side; she appeared to be about a year or so younger than her.

He overheard his father in a lull of the crowd, clearly winding down the conversation.

"– if you're sure."

"Of course, sir. We would never endanger our children so. Now if you don't mind, I dislike indulging someone's wild fancies, so excuse us."

"Of course, Mr Greengrass, I shall leave you to it. Good luck." James nodded and turned, stalking back over, his face twisted with disgust. Almost as soon as he was within their hearing, he started mocking the man until he came abreast of Lily, Frank, and Sirius and raised his hands, repeating the words, "Of course you had no damn rat, you lying scoundrel, and never mind he may have been in your daughter's _bed_. We're going to sauce at you without a care just because we're Dark motherfucking _bastards_."

"James!" Lily glared. "Excuse me, our children are _right here."_

He rubbed his face. "Sorry, Harry, Nanna… Let's take you guys back out; I think it'd be best if you just go to bed."

Harry wasn't about to argue: he didn't have anything else to do at the moment. Frank suggested they go through to his place: Alice would be home by now, her shift over. Melanie and Neville had no problems. Nanna shrieked inarticulately and received several stares until their mother threatened to not allow her to visit with her new friend _at all_ until they were both at Hogwarts. Still, Harry had to hold onto his sister until they both fell out of the fireplace at the end.

At least she'd stopped screaming before they were tucked into the guest bedrooms for the night. Harry's mind was full of the things he'd seen and what they could mean. He rolled over on his pillow and sighed. Being friends with Alan made a lot of things more complicated than they should be.

IIII

Almost as soon as James was back in the room, he heard the argument. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. He didn't have a clue what Fudge was thinking, putting everyone together like this. Three suspected Death Eaters, four known Dark families, and four solidly Light ones in the same room wasn't a good thing. Strangely enough, when he found the argument, it wasn't between someone light and dark: Lucius Malfoy had apparently tried to rip into Gregory Davis. Remarkably, it also looked like he was losing.

"You will never understand my reasoning, Lucius, so stop trying. You're just going to make yourself look bad."

"Your pretty little wife is a disgrace," Malfoy sneered. "She is not, in fact, even appealing in her looks. You've said it yourself: she is insubordinate and disrespectful. She does not understand the first thing she owes you –"

"I don't see why you can argue that," Davis' friend cut in. James couldn't think of the brunet's name, but several men were staring. "You don't understand his reasons in the least, and it appears his arrangement works remarkably well. He, at least, does not require house elves, which have been known to be unreliable if displeased."

"Spoken by someone who has never owned one in his life, I see." Malfoy stared down his nose at the man, to no effect. The stranger was still smiling, and finally Malfoy asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm not surprised you don't know me, as you wouldn't dare show your face in front of Crouch. I'm Kenner Templar."

"I do not know the name."

"Of course not. My father was a half-blood, after all... even if he married a Bones." He nodded to Amelia across the room. "Not to mention, I also wasn't Slytherin: I was Hufflepuff. Completely under your notice, up until I make my name in politics, of course."

"You have done no such thing," Malfoy glared.

Templar smiled right back, and it was not pleasant. "Did you not understand? I am second behind Bartemius Crouch for being the Head of the Department of International Cooperation. I can make or break you with everyone outside the country, but none of you purebloods care – you're too stuck on the idea that this little island is the be-all-and-end-all of the universe. But once I'm there, I can go further – maybe you'll pay a little more attention if I become someone _very_ important…."

He left unspoken the threat or promise that he aspired to be Minister. James would have stood behind him in an instant, just to keep that look of absolute shock on Lucius Malfoy's face. However, the arrogant shit-face Malfoy showed his true colours by lifting his nose and stalking away, leaving Gregory and Templar to their good-natured friendship, which seemed to be an argument as to who was doing better in the Ministry after all.

James walked away, shaking his head. Politics escaped him most of the time; he had imagined several times becoming Minister, but didn't think he could deal with people like Malfoy and Gregory all the time. While they were friendly, he didn't understand Gregory Davis in the least and couldn't stand listening to him for very long. He never outright said _anything._

"Well, aren't you just all over people today," Sirius rumbled. James looked up and nearly covered his eyes. His friend was leaning on the snack table giving Desdemona Zabini some serious eye contact – if her eyes had been a foot lower. Off to his left were Frank and Lily, holding a conversation that involved much smiling and avoiding eye contact with each other.

He debated with himself. He could stop Sirius where he was, or let him go. After a moment's consideration, he turned and joined his wife and Frank.

"How have things been with having Melanie and Neville both in school?" James asked innocently, deliberately not glancing at Sirius.

Lily and Frank lost it and just burst out laughing. James wasn't far behind. It wasn't long before Sirius wandered overtly past them on the way to talk to Davis and Templar, making it clear that he was no longer admiring the recent widow's assets.

James looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened. Desdemona was pouting, but she turned quickly to address a very stiff-looking young black man. James had him pinned as Fudge's bodyguard, a new Auror named Shacklebolt. He was a serious guy, very forward, very powerful, but sensible with apparently little sense of humour, at least on the job. He'd been a Slytherin in school, and while Sirius got along with him, James did not.

Shacklebolt was very pointedly staring somewhere else other than at the woman leaning against his arm. James couldn't hear, but his expression and motions presented themselves as short, concise answers. He considered interfering, but swallowed it when Rufus Scrimgeour broke off from the Minister and moved over.

"Excuse me, Ms Zabini, but Auror Shacklebolt is on the job at the moment." His voice carried easily. "He cannot work with you hanging off his arm. I understand you are _bereft,"_ he clearly believed no such thing, "but that is no excuse for your behaviour."

"Oh, so sorry!" She put a hand to her mouth and then touched his shoulder familiarly. James froze, struggling not to smile. "I was just so concerned, and he looks like such a _clever_ man – he wouldn't fall to such a rickety old house as mine. It just turned up temperamental, and I couldn't stop it. It was horrible!"

"Indeed." Scrimgeour bit out, "About as horrible as you driving two husbands to suicide and another being caught in a nasty firefight – which, of course, was not your fault in the least."

"Which one?" She pouted prettily. "Tinashe was so _brave_, fighting for me when that man tried to steal me away. Unfortunately, I do not grieve for Leeson – he was a terrible man who deserved what he got."

"And you naturally had nothing to do with it," Scrimgeour sneered.

"Nothing at all." Desdemona had stopped teasing, her voice turning to steel. "Although, he would not have lasted long after he struck Tinashe's son." She turned into a false smile. "But that would have been perfectly legal, Auror. The terrible men simply saved me time and effort."

"And made you a hundred thousand galleons richer."

"That wasn't my doing. He _adored_ me; it simply wasn't mutual."

"Has it ever been?"

She took a deep, hurt breath and pressed her hand to her ample chest. "You hurt a grieving woman, Auror Scrimgeour. I cannot believe you would do such a thing to me. Insinuating that I have no heart is so very low! I shall find someone _else_ to console me, someone with more care in their hearts than you!"

She stalked off, Scrimgeour glaring after her with hard eyes. It seemed she felt it and turned to flutter her eyelashes at him. James would've sworn her shirt was significantly lower on her breasts, the mounds of chocolate flesh simply gleaming in the light. Her voice was a husky bedroom tone he'd have killed to hear screaming his name.

"Are you sure _you_ won't take care of me, Scrimgeour? There are many ways to be forgiven…"

James made a quick note to leave sooner than planned to take advantage of having an empty house that night.

Scrimgeour stiffened. "I am _married_, Ms Zabini, and as little as that means to you, I intend to take back _nothing_ of what I've said."

She sighed dramatically and drifted away into the crowds. James let out a cough that became a grunt as Lily elbowed him.

"Gotten an eyeful, James?" she growled. She was still smiling, which meant she knew Desdemona had been flaunting herself, but she wasn't happy. He put an arm around her waist and squeezed her to him, whispering in her ear.

"It did get me thinking about how empty the house will be tonight: no children at _all_. And I do not have to be here all night."

Lily relaxed into him and slid one hand up to his hair. She whispered back, "I like that. Any reason to stay much longer?"

James glanced up and found Frank shaking his head. His friend raised his hands. "I'm all for leaving Sirius here to enjoy the widow's scheming."

It was definitely going to be a very nice evening tonight. Neither he nor Frank looked back to find Sirius as they made their excuses and left.

IIII

"Melanie?" Neville poked his head into Ginny's compartment and excused himself to the black-haired girl next to her before asking more clearly, "Have you seen my sister?"

"She left to go to the loo not five minutes ago…" Ginny paused. "I thought she was taking a little long, but really, it's not something to worry about yet, Neville. Why are you looking, anyways?"

"I dunno. Harry just suggested it after coming back from way down the train himself. Something about her prone to pick a fight with Astoria – you know how they get along, so I'm a bit worried now…"

"Alright, thank Harry for panicking you when you find her, okay?"

"Will do." Neville rolled his eyes and nodded to the other girl there, ignoring her sudden blush. Moving back into the hall, he trotted up the train, wondering if there was any validity in Harry's sudden suspicion. His friend had been acting too damn weird all year. Neville knew that Harry was changing – he supported it, really. Harry wasn't anywhere near as stressed as he'd been when he'd been so frantic about meeting his father's expectations, but now Neville wasn't sure what to do with him. Harry had just stopped making sense.

Neville wasn't sure if that was a relief, or a pain in the ass. He certainly could've used more logic in being sent off to find his sister.

"_What do you call _that,_ you blonde-haired bitch?"_

Neville groaned and burst through the door with a shout, "Melanie!"

It was almost exactly what he'd been warned of: Melanie was in a hair-pulling cat-fight, Astoria gripping his sister's wrist and protecting a small, black velvet bag against her chest.

"Lay off, you underbred whore!" Astoria yelled back, "He's_ my_ rat!"

"He's not a bloody rat, you imbecile! He's a _Death Eater, _just like your father!"

"Melanie!" Neville shouted again, elbowing past the small crowd. "Get _off_, and Melanie, stop right now!"

She didn't listen, and Astoria suddenly let go of her wrist to drag her nails down his sister's face. Melanie screamed, and Neville saw red. So, too, did his sister. She didn't let go of Astoria's hair, but instead twisted her hand and pulled hard. Astoria shrieked in pain, and Neville finally reached them. Grabbing his sister's wrist and Astoria's free hand, he shouted again, "Enough! Both of you stop it, or I'll get a Prefect!"

"Too late," a young woman said from the far door.

In front of her strode Percy, his chest puffed out self-importantly. His appearance was enough for Melanie, who let go immediately. Astoria jerked out of Neville's grip and tried to fade into the crowd. Neville also ushered his sister along, ignoring Percy's calls for their attention. Before the Head Boy could get through the crowd of students, Neville was at the far door. He turned and waved to the curly-haired woman behind the Head Boy: he was pretty sure she was Carmine Hodges, but she had spared him a lecture. It was good enough for him.

Melanie turned on him as soon as they were behind the closed door. "She'd picked up her damn rat again, Neville! It's Pettigrew, we both know it!"

"Melanie, that doesn't bloody matter to her, and it doesn't bloody matter to anyone other than an Auror either. You're not going to win that argument with _her_, much less in a fight on the train. You're going to have detention when we get back to school, mark my words! Percy knows who you both were, and he'll report the fight."

Melanie pouted. "It'll be worth it."

"Harry's been a bloody bad influence on you," Neville grumbled. "Detentions are _not_ a good thing."

"They are if the person you were fighting with deserved it!"

"Is that what you learned watching him fight?" Neville grumbled. "That some people deserved it?"

"No, I learned that hearing about how Prince and Malfoy fight amongst themselves. Harry fights with Prince because he's having fun."

"Fights aren't fun," Neville grumbled. "Who told you that?"

"I overheard Zabini and Prince yelling at each other in the courtyard. I know Prince fights with Harry because _he_ enjoys it. Zabini accused him of that one."

"Yeah, well, it isn't mutual. Harry's in a bad mood for nearly half-an-hour after he picks a fight with Prince, depending on what caused it."

"Well, you just know _soo_ much, being two years older." Melanie stuck out her tongue. "Well, you can just live with me knowing more than you. Now, I'm going to go tease Ginny about how Zabini _likes_ her."

Neville caught her shoulder before she left. "Melanie, this is serious. If you're really sure about that rat, tell Remus. He'll get it to father and James, okay? They'll know what to do."

Melanie stopped and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Okay, Neville. I will."

"Thank you. Go have fun." He paused, and then decided to sow some trouble. "And make sure Ron doesn't hear about Zabini, either!"

She stopped at the door and grinned at him. "I'll make sure he does!"

He watched her go with a grin.

* * *

A/N: On time again (sort of)! It's a miracle!  
And here's some Ministry people to fill in a few holes. Like the wizards having a less-than-enough childbearing habits for their society. Surely Molly isn't the only gravid woman out there... So, yes. Don't panic about memorizing names, I don't expect you to remember them perfectly.

Enjoy,  
Fire & Napalm


	14. Chapter 14

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Fourteen:**

"No, fuck it!"

Harry swore vehemently at the unfolding scene, his hands gripping the railing and his eyes locked on the two players.

Alan Prince looped Cho Chang on the Quidditch pitch and snagged the Snitch out from under her nose. Harry ground his teeth and thumped the rail in disgust: Alan would've eaten dirt before that kind of trick worked on _him_.

Ron stamped his foot again and growled. Harry shrugged off his frustration and let go of the railing. No point griping at a finished game. Harry grabbed Ron's shirt and dragged him along to follow everyone else out of the stands. Ron followed and started up their conversation again with,

"Think Angelina would kill us if we suggested she try modelling some moves after that Ravenclaw who fouled four times during the game?"

Harry laughed, "I saw the Slytherins started to balk going near him, but he almost got tossed out of the game."

"So? She doesn't have to actually _do_ it, just look like it."

Harry considered it until he was dragged out of his thoughts by Ron comparing the two Keepers. They were passing the changing rooms Slytherin was using when something shot out and rapped him on the side of the head. He turned with a snarl, but it was a pale face and black hair that disappeared back inside.

"What was that, Harry?"

"Nothing... just a dirty joke, I'm sure." He scooped up the paper and made a show of tearing it in half before crumpling it up and pretending to throw it away. It ended up inside his sleeve, so he could read it later. "Isn't that bloody stupid? Honestly – they didn't even hex the paper. How stupid is that?"

Ron laughed, easily distracted. "Almost as stupid as last week when Goyle tried to kick one of Hagrid's salamanders."

Harry joined in, but as soon as they were back in the common room, he slipped upstairs to read Alan's note. It was simple to mend the paper again to read. All it said was: _'Meet me tonight, with Myrtle after curfew. I have something to tell you that you might be interested in. It may take a while.'_

Harry frowned, leaning back and then levitating and burning the note. He and Alan had talked often in the library about themselves and their lives, but never in too much detail. There had always been the risk of being overheard, and both of them had secrets they never wanted anyone else to know. Harry didn't want to ever say aloud the fear he had that everyone thought he was the boy of prophecy; Alan had never elaborated on his family, either. What was it he was going to say in the safety of the Chamber of Secrets?

It was definite. He was going to meet him there.

Harry stayed in bed all evening, pretending to read. He actually did finish his Charms homework while waiting, and, when everyone else was finally asleep, he slipped on the cloak. He slid out of the curtains of his bed and followed Neville through the dorm room door and, past him, to the Fat Lady. Neville stopped in the common room and went straight to Hermione's side to start another quiet argument with her. Whatever was between them had their full attention, so when there was a loud thunk and a yelp as the door caught him on his way out, neither one of them came after him.

As for him...

It always surprised Harry how easy it really was to wander the castle at night. He could have forgone the cloak and been perfectly fine, in all honesty. He kept it on in the interest of safety, but the halls were dead as the grave – he didn't even run into any of the ghosts until he reached the second-floor bathroom.

Myrtle was glad to see him and reluctant as usual to end her chance to talk and tell him Alan was already in the Chamber. Harry nervously opened the sink to slide down. To his surprise, it was clean. He'd heard from his father that explorations had been done, but never had he thought it would have been so extensive. The slide had been cleaned, and at the bottom, the animal skeletons were gone and the walls, while dark, were no longer grimy.

He wandered slowly through the tunnels until he came out in the main hall, where he and Alan had fought the basilisk. Between the tall, carved pillars stood a long table and a bunch of chairs. Alan had seated himself at the head, his back to him as he stared into the light of the torches.

"Hey," Harry said.

Alan startled and turned to face him. He smiled. "Hey, yourself. I brought a snack." He tossed him something, and Harry caught it, finding a sandwich in a plastic bag.

"Are we going to be here that long?"

"Maybe. Depends on how much you want to know."

"Everything, of course." Harry grinned. "What could I not want to know?"

Alan pulled out an apple and sighed. He spent a moment frowning at it before he spoke in a strange light and flat tone. "A few things. Alfaerus stuff, the names of the pet rats that Green took off with, how long it took to straighten out my schooling here, the boy-girl argument about that, that Voldemort killed my mom..."

Harry felt a pinch at the last and jerked away. "That… How do you know that?"

Alan leaned his arms on the table, smiling thinly. "My mother was on the run – she was a Parselmouth, from a family rumoured to be a cadet line of Slytherin, and you know how obsessed Voldemort was. She recruited my godfather to help hide her, and it... didn't work. Voldemort killed her, and so my godfather took me to her sister in Salem, asking for asylum." Alan looked up at him a moment and then down again. "My godfather was a Death Eater, you know."

"Right." Harry shook his head. "Do you realize how crazy that sounds?"

"Truth can be stranger than fiction. Didn't your mother used to like Snape?" he challenged with a glare

"What? Ew! No!" Harry widened his eyes purposely. "Did he tell you that? Why did you say that? I think I'm scarred!"

Alan was apparently failing to maintain his glare. "Harry, that was pathetic."

"No, really, that was not something I wanted to think about! Snape kissing – No, just no! Something, anything else!"

"You remember Louis?" Alan asked. "And Green, his brother?"

"Yes?" Harry ventured.

"They once got on the wrong sides of an aphrodisiac and –"

"_Alan_!"

He laughed quietly. "They managed to get out of it without too many scars…" Harry wiped off his face. "...the second time, at least."

Harry dropped his head to the table. "Alan… Did you do this just to scar me?"

"No, I did that only after you mocked my godfather."

"I'm sorry, okay? I still just don't think much of Death Eaters."

"He's sorry about it," Alan explained. "And he nearly died trying to leave. Without him, I'd be dead, okay?"

"So did he raise you?"

"Sorta." Alan shrugged. "He wasn't really up to it alone. I think it was more my aunt Philana and Louis who raised me, but they all had their parts. Salem is kind of a big family when you live in the school."

"How so?"

"There's just people everywhere." He grinned. "The Alfaerus are every bit of the rumours and then some." He faltered. "And just as dangerous. I think my Aunt and Louis are some of the sanest people there... well, and Lyall." He looked at Harry sidelong. "She's a werewolf, and the receptionist."

"So, the necromancer and the werewolf are the bastions of sanity there?"

"Nah, just the next best thing."

"That sounds a little too exciting."

"It is." Alan shook his head. "Enough about me. What about you? How ordinary is your life?"

"Ordinary." Harry pouted. "I have an annoying little sister, something of a community family too, and doting parents with a few more expectations than I would like."

"Which you're already flouting."

"Of course!" Harry grinned. "That's what any half-decent kid does! I've got a good example in my godfather anyways."

"Who exactly is your godfather? Frank?"

"No, Sirius."

"Sirius Black?" Alan's mouth twitched. "Cool."

"You know him?"

Alan coughed. "Of him. A lot of Slytherins talk about the rebellious Black heir. Is he as bad as they claim?"

"Probably worse." Harry sighed. "You know, it's kind of a hassle having so many people around me all the time."

"You mean the Marauders?"

"Snape told you?"

"Yeah. They're like a bunch of chaperones or something?"

"They can be. Other times, they can be really demanding and pushy. What about your cousins?"

"It's not the cousins I had to worry about: the triplets are too caught up in their work." Alan grinned. "It was the kids my age. There's about six in my age range: a set of identical twins, the family heir, and a vampire, along with a few of their closest younger siblings."

"A _what_?"

Alan grinned. "Yes, a vampire. He's kinda my best friend. It's a long story, and no, I'm not relating it right now. It gets really confusing; I don't get it myself, but he's a good friend. Very loyal."

Harry shrugged. "Who are the Alfaerus?" Alan started listing names, and Harry abruptly cut him off. "Okay, forget I asked, forget it. How did your mother and Snape meet, anyways?"

Alan looked away, his lips tight.

"Alan?"

"You're not going to tell anyone about this, right?"

"Of course not," Harry answered, confused. "Why would I? What's so bad, Alan? She's your mum."

"I…" He swallowed, paused, and then started again, "My godfather always told me my mother was my father's confidante when he needed her most. I did always know who my father most likely was, but… It could've been someone else, because my mother… was a confidante to a lot of people."

Harry took a moment to wrap his mind around what Alan was saying. Did he mean his mother slept around? Some people just didn't get married: Merlin knows, Sirius sure wasn't! It wasn't anything to be ashamed of, but what exactly was a 'confidante' in that sense?

"Did she just see a lot of men?"

"For money. She saw them for money."

Harry sat back hard. "Oh." That was something else. What would that be like, to know your mother had… He tried to keep a sense of disgust off his face, finally asking, "Snape doesn't seem bothered by it."

Alan shrugged tightly. "He says he doesn't care. He's proud of me as a son."

Harry watched him, saw him turned away, unable to look at him, and sighed. "Alan, I don't think less of you for that."

"Liar," Alan called him on it, but Harry turned it around on him,

"Do you think less of me for having a bigot for a father?" That got his attention again, and Harry found a smile. "You're not your parents."

Alan smiled faintly. "Yeah. It's just hard sometimes."

"Yeah, it is. But," he rallied himself, "it's not like _you_ did it. Maybe she had reasons she never said. That doesn't say anything about who _you_ are – or else I'm screwed to be an ignorant Gryffindor my whole life. And I'm not."

Alan smiled again and rested his chin in his hands. "Anything else you want to know about?"

"What kind of stuff did you get into as a kid?"

"A lot of classes I wasn't supposed to be in at my age."

"Like what?"

Alan's eyes gleamed. "Everything. I probably know more than Hermione."

"And remember less than half she does," Harry scoffed. "I'm in good with Remus, and I know you failed the last test we took."

"What?" Alan sat up abruptly. "How – you're lying!"

Harry grinned. "Am not."

"Are too!" His face fell. "What did I get wrong? I was _sure_ of it –"

Harry got to his feet and danced away. "I'm not telling you!"

"Get back here!"

Alan pushed his chair back and ran at him. Harry darted out of his way and further into the tunnels, tripping lightly, but keeping well ahead. He laughed delightedly at Alan's curses. The boy needed to remember his place, and Harry was going to keep reminding him of that.

Especially when he found out he wasn't lying, either.

IIII

True to form, they both got lost and slept through breakfast Monday morning. That day, after Slytherin had Defence, Alan stormed down on Harry and picked another fight about him jinxing his test. They both ended up in detention for a week and in the doghouse: none of their friends were willing to excuse their arguments anymore.

It was late in the week when Harry was coming into the common room from Quidditch practice that he slammed to a halt in the doorway by a now-familiar argument.

"My schedule is _none of your concern_!" Hermione screamed.

"Like _Hell_ it's not!" Neville shouted back. "You're up at all hours with your homework still undone, you can't keep your eyes open in Ancient Runes, and you expect me to believe that you're _fine_?"

Rubbing his eyes, Harry joined Ron by the fireplace and stared at his yelling friend again. "What are Hermione and Neville on about now?"

"Her studies." Ron muttered from where he was bent over his own work. "Again. Why'd Wood keep you behind?"

"Planning for the game against Ravenclaw." Harry ducked as something slammed into the floor behind him. "He's a touch worried about their Chaser, Hodges." Harry elaborated. "I told him I'll be fine as long as he doesn't try to steal the Beaters' bats, but he kept me there anyways."

"_I happen to like that class_!" Hermione shrieked.

"And it's completely and utterly _pointless_!" Neville roared back._ "_You're _muggleborn,_ you thick-headed idiot! You know more than the _teacher_!"

"It doesn't mean I should ditch it!"

"It means you're killing yourself for no bloody good reason! You're a freaking sucker for punishment. You wanna be the whole _bloody school's arse_?"

Harry felt his eyes nearly bug out, and he turned in time to see Hermione's face contort. She gave a strangled screech and Neville didn't duck fast enough. Her heavy Ancient Runes book slammed into his face, and he fell flat on his back. He rolled onto his side, groaning. Hermione's eyes were wide and she was panting for breath, but she finally gave in and kicked Neville's rump for good measure.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me what to do, Longbottom!" she spat. "You have _no_ right – no right at all!"

"Granger!" Percy interrupted. "That was out of line!"

"He's being a controlling prat!"

"That gives you no right to throw a book at his face!" Percy hissed. "Ten points each, and a detention with Filch. Longbottom?" he asked. "What were you bugging her about?"

Neville was just sitting up, a hand over his nose. Blood was trickling down to his mouth, and he grumpily said, "Nuthin'."

"Excuse me, Mr Longbottom, that wasn't '_nothing_'. You were bugging her about her studies. You have no right to police her work." All he got in return was a sullen glare. Percy made an angry noise like a squeezed balloon and pointed to the door. "A detention for you, too. You may go see Pomfrey about your nose."

"So kind," Neville groused, and without looking at Hermione, he scrambled to his feet and out the portrait hole.

Hermione was red in the face, but she still yelled after him, "Don't you dare insult me like that again!"

He flipped her off as he shut the door behind him. Percy tried to swell indignantly, but was cut short: Carmine Hodges came up behind him and dragged him up the stairs. Several students started catcalling – including the twins. Her response made it clear she wasn't going to ravish him, but some yelled it out anyways.

As Hermione settled into her work again, Harry shook his head and grandly indicated the common room to Ron. "Isn't this such a wonderful place to be?"

Ron snorted. "It sure isn't boring. Makes homework easier when it's punctuated by something insane."

Harry couldn't argue with that.

IIII

Harry was sitting at the breakfast table the morning of the match against Ravenclaw, turning a paper over in his hands. He'd gotten it the first of February, delivered to his plate. It had to be from a pureblood: how many muggleborns knew the first of February had a name?

'_Happy Imbolc, Potter'_ it read.

He didn't know what to think of it. Hermione had said it looked like a girl's handwriting. Ron had suggested he cheat and ask Remus whose it was, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. If it was a pureblood, she probably wasn't willing to openly date a 'muggle-lover'. If it was Daphne…

Harry's face went bright red, and Wood came over and slapped him on the back. "C'mon, Potter, we've a game to win!"

Harry scrambled to his feet just as Ron gave him a suspicious look.

"Harry, are you still reading that note?"

Shoving it in his pocket, Harry smiled at him, distracted. "No, I'm not. Wish me luck."

He walked away, ignoring Hermione's answer behind him. "I think that's a yes. Does he know who –"

No, he didn't. And he didn't want to know, because he wasn't sure if he wanted to be flattered or scared.

Outside, up against the Ravenclaw team, Harry was smiling tightly as the captains shook hands. Fred and George were sizing up the boy he'd marked out as aggressive. He was in the same year as the twins and met their attention with a saucy grin. They grinned right on back. Wood had told them to spare no expense to take him out of the game: he apparently did not want to risk getting hit in the face with a Quaffle.

Harry was just glad the Hodges boy wasn't a Beater. The only thing he'd have to watch for was possibly getting the Quaffle thrown at him, or getting steamrollered if he got too close.

The whistle came, and Harry shot straight up into the air – and nearly fell off his broom. Clutching it quickly, he levelled off and then looped around Cho with a wide grin. The female Seeker gave him a tight smile and seemed to turn away when they levelled off as the play began. It wasn't long before he caught her tailing him closely. Harry grinned. They were on matching brooms, but he was still smaller than she was. He dropped towards the ground and marked the perimeter at the same level as the goals.

Glancing towards the game, Harry could only smile. The twins were monopolizing the Bludgers: the Hodges boy was hard-pressed to take even one hand off his broom or risk being smeared. The other two chasers, while doing alright, weren't aggressive enough to beat the Gryffindor girls.

Taking a risk, Harry dropped and dove under the goals, making a beeline for the stands on the opposite side of the pitch. Chang was directly on his heels. In the midst of the Chasers, Harry glimpsed motion in his peripheral vision – blue robes. He turned too late, and Hodges slammed into his side. Harry rolled under his broom and swung himself back up, his head low on his broom. Hodges' elbow still skimmed the back of his skull even as Hooch blew the whistle at the foul.

Furious, Harry grabbed Hodges' collar, ready to yell at him. His words stopped unspoken at the sight of a Bludger racing towards the Ravenclaw's back. Harry jerked his broom backwards, keeping a hold of Hodges' collar. The Ravenclaw gagged and twisted to try and get free, turning sidelong to the Bludger barely in time to see it. Hodges twisted with surprising agility and the Bludger only slammed into the edge of his thigh.

The Ravenclaw dropped him at the pain, and Harry took the chance to break away and let Hooch come between them. After all the chaos of the encounter, Harry was surprised to hear it was Gryffindor who got the penalty shots. He went back into the air, still breathing a little hard... and still, Chang was trailing his every move.

Harry opted to ignore her for the time being, circling and watching as usual. Hodges was apparently growing weary of the twins – he fouled twice more and took another glancing blow to his arm. However, when they got fifty points up, the twins seemed to lose interest – or Wood told them to back off – and Hodges took the Quaffle, putting it through the hoop within ten minutes to bring Ravenclaw to fifty points total. Chang cheered him on.

Harry glowered, spinning to drop into another dive – half to feel the wind, half to throw the Ravenclaw seeker off balance again. He pushed his broom for speed, but not all out – he deliberately let her keep up. He caught a glimpse of gold, a flutter at his eyelid, then jackknifed in the air to follow it over his own shoulder. He got a glorious look at Chang's shocked face as he shot over her head, up into the air after the tiny, golden Snitch. She turned, her movement less sharp, and her broom not quite as fast. Harry shot behind it and followed the golden glitter again as it darted down. Harry opted against another jackknife – instead, he rolled his broom over, hanging underneath until it fell and pointed towards the ground, kicking it back and rolling overtop.

The nearest stand was screaming, and he could hear the Gryffindors chanting his name. The Snitch was slowly pulling away from him, and Chang was catching up from the side. Harry flattened himself to his broom, pushing it for all the speed it could give, and leaned forward. Seconds later, seconds before Chang could catch up, he lashed his hand forward, groped, missed, and caught it.

He levelled out, holding the Snitch in the air and grinning as the black-haired girl subsided beside him. She smiled.

"Nice chase!"

"Thanks!"

He didn't even make it to the ground before Oliver Wood slammed into him, a bruise already forming on the Captain's eye. The others joined in, just as excited.

It took him a moment to pull free from his ecstatic team and glance towards the stands where he'd remembered Neville, Ron, and Ginny sitting. Hermione, strangely, hadn't even come outside. Very likely she had refused out of fury at Neville for their detentions. His friends were no longer in the stands, however. At the base, he found them – face to face with Alan and his friends. It was Ginny's name that came up, and in the pure-blood Zabini's pompous tone of voice. Harry landed just as Neville stopped Ron's charge.

Dropping his broom, Harry stormed forward. Not five metres from him, Alan looked up and smirked infuriatingly. Harry felt satisfaction warm his belly as he closed in, a pleasant fury simmering. Zabini would regret involving his friends, and he would enjoy the process of making him.

Zabini looked up shortly after Alan did and paled. Harry was ready to go for his wand when suddenly his momentum came to a halt. He jerked and growled, "What the fuck, guys?"

"Sorry, Harry," one of the twins began.

"But Wood said it's our spots if we let you take out an opposing Seeker."

"Even if he wasn't playing us this match."

Harry jerked on their restraining arms. "I wasn't going for _Prince –_ I was gonna finish your little brother's aim at _Zabini_."

"Still, no go, Harry."

"Not even if he deserves it."

"Getting pinned down, Potter?" Alan drawled. "So sorry. Blaise, move it. The ginger spot will still be there another day. You can salve your wounded pride before they take it out of your skin. I don't think they're holding him too tight."

Zabini snorted, but he backed off, looking a little worried. Harry subsided and then jerked free.

"Great, spoil my fun."

The twins shrugged in unison. "Not our fault."

"Don't try it in front of Wood."

"And we'll help you corner the little suckers."

Harry deliberately straightened his robes before answering. "I'll keep it in mind. Can one of you get me my broom? The summoning –"

"_Accio."_ Neville incanted. The broom leaped off the grass towards them, and Harry snatched it out of the air before smiling.

"Thanks, Neville."

"We learn it next year," Neville scoffed. "I can't believe you don't know it yet."

"I am neither you, nor am I Hermione," Harry retorted. "And we have a party to get to, and I need a shower. I will see you there, alright?" They nodded, and before they finished leaving, Harry caught Neville's shoulder. "Try not to pick another fight with Hermione tonight, okay?"

Neville scowled. "I won't. She knows I'm right, and arguing it won't make her give in any sooner. She'll figure it out soon enough."

Harry wasn't sure what to think of that.

IIII

It required Harry and Neville both to taunt Hermione into leaving the castle with the promise of the oft-falsified history of the Shrieking Shack. It got her away from her books and down to Hogsmeade, where the two boys took turns making it up until they had her laughing and enjoying herself in the chilly weather. It made it more than worth their time.

Two days later, it was Valentine's. Harry wasn't sure what to think of that. Last year had been embarrassing. He was too worried to even make bets with Neville about the breakups, but Neville turned from that to teasing Ron until he made a Valentine for Hannah and then slipped it to Professor Sprout after Herbology that Monday so she could pass it on anonymously.

Harry almost smiled at it until their next class. It seemed someone else – three people, actually – had had the same idea. McGonagall gave him _three_ Valentine's with his assignment when she handed it back! He refused to open them and tried to throw them away. Neville tore them from his hands and eagerly flipped them open.

"Hm, one just says 'Happy Valentine's Day' in pretty letters. The next… same thing, except – wow! Whoever did this, practised their letters a _lot_. You should see this, it's really good stuff. The last…" He snorted. "Oh, cute. 'She still has a crush, you know.' Same girl as last year, I'd bet."

Harry snatched them back and opened them himself. "Merlin, this is just _ridiculous._ Leave it alone, Neville. I don't see you getting any Valentine's."

He snorted. "I don't need any girls fainting over me. You get to be the lucky one this time, brother."

Harry stopped in place and glared at Neville's retreating back. Some days, having a best friend was a real pain in the ass.

"– my favourite pair," a girl nearby whined, "with a hole clean through the crotch. And I'd have sworn they were clean, but they turned up with a crusty stain!"

"I can't believe it's happening again, I thought it had stopped early this year! I found a pair of mine in the same state. My favourite panties! I wore them on my last date; he _loved_ them –"

Harry's face turned bright red, and he stalked to catch up with Neville. The girls would _kill_ him for overhearing that one. He completely ignored Neville's look and buried his attention in getting lunch until he asked.

"What on earth were those Ravenclaws talking about? Sex?"

Harry glared. "That is neither of our business."

"What is it, really?"

"Chewed panties, if you must know," Harry snapped. Ron, across from them, went scarlet. "C'mon, Neville, they're _sixteen._ That is not our business."

Neville rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. "Yeah, but it's really amusing anyways."

IIII

Remus straightened the test papers he'd received back and scanned across his first-year Gryffindor/Ravenclaw class. His attention tracked to the Ravenclaw side where Astoria Greengrass was chatting with her friends. In a small, black velvet bag by her side was a black rat.

He reflexively inhaled to try to get a scent, but all he smelled was perfume.

Melanie had come to him immediately after getting off the train in all her stubborn glory, jumping immediately into blaming Astoria and her rat for nearly everything that had gone wrong last year and a few things they couldn't possibly have anything to do with. Remus had calmed her down and promised to keep an eye on them. At this point, he'd seen enough; he wanted to get his hands on that rat to know for sure.

The bell rang, and Remus called out, "Miss Greengrass, please stay behind."

The girl in question glared at him but walked to the door, chatting with her friends, before she walked back up to his desk. He noted immediately that her bag was behind her back now and was hanging lighter. He stifled a frown: she'd let her rat go. Still, however, he needed to talk to her.

"Miss Greengrass, may I ask when you got your pet rat?"

She frowned delicately at him, trying to look like a sweet little girl. While she was one of the more sweet-faced girls in her year, Remus had faced down that act before from women with far more experience. When he wasn't moved, she pouted and answered, "Three years ago, sir."

"Has he been known to get into places he shouldn't?"

"I have a cage for him at home."

"Does he get out?"

"What does my rat have to do with class, sir?"

Remus sighed and pinched his nose. "Miss Greengrass, I believe you have been approached about the possible dangers your pet possesses. If you wish to know if he is _safe_ –"

"My rat is fine!" Astoria yelled. "You and your friends are bullying him; he's been scared and off his food! You're _mean_!"

"Miss Greengrass, this is in regards to the safety of the school –" Remus argued, but he'd lost and he knew it. He kept his swearing in his head and watched the girl dissolve into angry tears and start sobbing. Turning aside, he sent a Patronus to Pomfrey and turned back to the girl. "Alright, Miss Greengrass. I know this can be upsetting. Pomfrey will take you upstairs and get you anything you need to feel better."

"I don't want anything from you!" she shrieked, sitting down hard in a chair and curling her legs up.

Remus ignored her and started on a note to James and Sirius. They needed to drop by more often; and James needed to stop simply tinkering with the map and figure out how to get it to home in on a name. It would make it much easier to police the grounds for someone who should not be there.

Someone like Peter Pettigrew.

IIII

Harry returned to the common room from hanging out in the library with a small smile on his face. He glanced around and stifled a snort before he took a seat next to Neville, waiting for him to notice he had company. It was a few minutes before Neville looked over and frowned.

"What are you smiling at me for?"

"First off, you're staring at Hermione," Harry answered under his breath. "Second, you look very interested. Third, you also look concerned – it's sweet, really!" Harry quickly reassured him, raising his voice to normal. "And I'm wondering if you want to come exploring with me?"

Neville's attention moved back to him. "What kind of exploring?"

Ron closed his book and looked up. "What are we doing? Anything to get out of homework!"

"Ron!" Hermione didn't look, but spoke up anyways. "Homework is very important!"

"Just because you're drowning in it, doesn't mean I have to!" Ron glanced back with worry. "Are you two done with your homework already?"

Harry shrugged; he'd finished his in the library. Neville didn't answer either; Harry suspected he did his while trying to keep an eye on Hermione. The two still weren't really talking. Still, he owed Ron an answer. "I haven't had much else to do. I've avoided detention so far this month, and Quidditch practise doesn't tire me as much as it does you. You're doing well, Ron, and getting attacked by Chasers all evening… What don't you have done?"

"Care of Magical Creatures," Ron moaned. "And Divination."

"You're good at bullshitting Divination," Neville pointed out. "Ask Harry about Care. He's memorized the damn book-creature."

Harry grabbed Ron's essay and glanced down it. He easily identified what was missing and flipped open his book. "This is easy. Look here, and here."

Ron looked down the page and grinned, scribbling down the answers and finishing. Bullshitting Divination became a game between him, Harry, and Neville until the latter boy sidled over to Hermione to ask if he could help. She was so frazzled, she agreed. By the time Ron's work was finished, Harry looked up to see Hermione with her head on her arms, Neville pretending to be reading over an essay but watching her out of the corner of his eye. Harry gave his friend a look.

"She's fine," Neville answered absently. "However, I think whatever your diversion might be would be good for her too. What did you have planned?"

Harry eyed Hermione dubiously and then moved to sit on the table, Ron standing by his side.

"I want to go check out the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione straightened immediately. "Harry James Potter, that's against the rules!"

Neville cut her off, "And how closely are you following them right now?"

Hermione surprisingly shut up and turned away. "Fine. I need to get out of this tower, I can't breathe."

Harry blinked. He still didn't know what was going on with her, but he could agree with her last statement. After Neville getting beaten with a textbook three times this year, he did not argue with Hermione.

"Okay," he agreed. "Let me get a few things from upstairs, and we sojourn to the library."

Harry opened his trunk and paused. Did he really need his invisibility cloak? He could almost hear Alan's voice in his head, _'Do you really only break the rules when you're with me? What kind of Slytherin is that?'_

'_I am not a Slytherin.'_

Alan had merely looked at him and back down with a coy smile. It hadn't been hard to understand what he meant. For the moment, he left it behind and decided to be a Gryffindor tonight.

After all, everyone would just blame his father for this one anyways.

Leaving the cloak behind, Harry scanned the room and grabbed a few of filibuster's fireworks, his spare wand holster, and then raided Neville's trunk for his spare wand and its holster. His spare had formerly belonged to Rufus Scrimgeour – ash, dragon heartstring, fifteen inches, rigid. Ron and Hermione could use the holsters, and he could use some kind of back-up. He looked around the room, ran his hand over his hair and then darted downstairs.

"What were you getting?" Neville demanded.

"Stuff," Harry answered, skipping towards the portrait-hole and holding it open. "C'mon, to the library!"

Hermione was smiling weakly, and Ron was almost jumping with excitement. Neville seemed resigned, but Harry knew him too well. He was excited too. Harry hadn't planned something this dangerous in a long time. It was the Forbidden Forest, but there was a trail, wasn't there? He'd killed a basilisk last year. What could the forest spit up that he couldn't handle?

Out in the hallway, Harry jogged up to Ron and Hermione and handed them the wand holsters. Leaving Neville to help Hermione get hers on, Harry showed Ron the ins and outs and then jogged a little forward, running a hand through his hair again.

Hermione made a small disgusted sound. "You look ridiculous when you mess your hair up like that."

Harry turned and nearly repeated the motion just to be contrary when he realized what he was doing. It was a habit his dad had when he was excited. He aborted the motion with a small jump and grinned at her, shrugging.

Neville was watching him with interest.

"Why are you really coming, Hermione?" Harry asked.

She shrugged. "I have barely left the common room in months except for Quidditch matches. I found it a bit silly."

"So you're coming with me into the Forbidden Forest just to get out of the common room?"

"C'mon, Harry," Ron whined. "It's gonna be an adventure!"

"Unwinding isn't a bad thing," Neville put in.

"Even if it's in a forest full of dangerous creatures?" Harry teased.

"I take it you plan on starting on the path we followed with Hagrid?" Neville clarified.

Harry nodded. "Just trail along it for a little while, and then turn around. No harm, no foul. Just adventure."

Everyone seemed to agree with that plan, and it wasn't until they'd snuck outside that Hermione finally asked, "How long is a 'little while' to you guys?"

Harry glanced back at Neville and shrugged. "An hour? Maybe two? We're already breaking the rules; being late won't change much."

That seemed to make sense to Hermione, who simply shrugged and followed them into the underbrush. It was already dark outside, but when they entered the forest, the moonlight dimmed significantly. It was a bright moon, high and full. Harry thought for a second he'd misjudged something, but shrugged it off. Remus hadn't looked too bad yesterday, and besides, the other three Marauders had the night off tonight. They may have dragged him somewhere else entirely anyways.

Well, too late now. Wolfsbane was a blessing.

Harry was in the front of the arrangement, leading the way down the dark path. Trees weren't exactly close to the path – it was cleared to allow for Hagrid to move down it. Four thirteen-year-olds were easily left feeling safe on the wide path.

"Where are we?" Ron asked after some time.

Harry glanced around. They'd been walking for at least a half hour, wands raised with light and staring into the deep woods around them. They'd come to a hollow, the bushes around the trees minimized to short ferns. Hermione was squeezed between him and Neville, with Ron standing at her back. She stared out at the forest with her eyes a little wide, but Harry wasn't sure his face was any better. He was feeling a little unnerved.

"Not sure."

"Thirty minutes into the forest and counting?" Neville offered sarcastically.

"Oh, lovely," Hermione said. Her voice was a little higher than normal, and she did not sound happy.

"C'mon." Harry moved forward up the path, leading the way out of the hollow and to the other side. The trail skipped to the right and began to follow what seemed to be a soft ridge between two hollows, the forest dropping away on both sides in a field of stark trunks and ferns, the ground mottled with moonlight.

There wasn't another debate other than soft commentary until they were stopped at the edge of an abrupt drop, where part of the path had washed away. Looking down, it was almost black, with some white, glittery strings amongst the trees. Ron immediately backed away, whimpering. Harry scoffed,

"Ron, that's not spiderweb. It's too thick."

Neville leaned out, holding onto a branch. "You sure about that, Harry?"

"Neville!" Harry hissed, "Don't panic him!"

After a minute of silence, Hermione came closer and shook his shoulder. "Harry..." she whispered "... what was it that Hagrid told us about last year?"

"What, exactly?" His mind was on whether that really was web or not.

"Didn't he get caught raising an –"

Harry jerked backwards and knocked Hermione down. He had to swallow before he could get past his fear. "Oh, right. I think that's deep enough, don't you?"

Neville laughed a little sharply. "Oh, yeah. C'mon, Ron. Race you back to the bend?"

He took off running, and Ron followed with remarkable speed, the a-feared webbing probably helping.

"Boys," Hermione huffed.

Harry laughed and slapped her shoulder. "C'mon, Hermione, I know you can run!" He took off, and Hermione yelped, following behind. They slowed down once Ron and Neville were in sight, down at the bottom of the second hollow they'd slipped through. Coming up the other side, something crashed in the forest behind them. They froze.

"What was that?" Ron whimpered.

"Dunno." Harry swallowed, and insisted, "Could just be Buckbeak."

"Or thestrals," Neville offered softly.

"Do they eat people?" Ron begged.

"Nah, carrion." He looked over and clarified, "Stuff already dead."

"Oh, joy."

"Let's keep going," Harry insisted. "Stay on the path."

They got up to looking down the next hollow, and Neville stopped Ron abruptly.

"Harry, something's down there."

Moving in front of Ron, Harry looked down and frowned.

It was darkness on top of darkness: a shadow over the ferns, creeping among the stark tree trunks. The problem was that it looked like it was taller than Hagrid and he didn't know what it was – at least, not until it moved across the path. Ron whimpered behind him. It was unmistakably a spider – a large one.

"Do they eat people?" Hermione whispered.

"Sometimes," Harry answered just as softly. "And they hear very well."

Ron stuffed his hand in his mouth to muffle himself, and Neville, beside him, was still. The monster moved through the hollow and further up the other side.

"What do we do?"

Harry shook his head at Hermione and softly breathed out. "I… Move quickly and quietly. We just need to get out of here."

They set down the hill and up the other side, moving with far more noise than Harry wanted, but they were moving.

They got about a dozen metres past before the crashing returned behind them. Harry started jogging lightly forward, looking back every few feet. They'd been moving for maybe five minutes before the shadow darted across the path and to the far side.

Harry yelped. "Run!"

They took off, and Neville passed him without another word. Ron shoved past on his other side, and Harry was left, trying to keep Hermione moving onward.

"C'mon, Hermione!"

How far did they have to go? They'd left the hollows behind. Ahead of them was ground without the dips, thick forest, and –

He fell flat out, skidding in the dirt and tumbling into a tree. Hermione tripped over his legs with a shriek that halted Neville and Ron ahead. Neville ran back; Ron was frozen in place until a loud crash to the side – ahead of Harry and Hermione, nearer to Ron – sent him running for the comfort of others.

Hermione was pulled up, and Harry stood, shaking on a leg laced with pain. He winced and leaned against the tree, trying to catch his breath and his thoughts. What worked against an acromantula? What would work? Ice seemed a good all-around spell, if he could figure out where to hit it. The last place it would expect would be underneath, right?

It didn't matter. Crashing sounded opposite the spider just as it sidled towards the path, and a chittering sound echoed.

It was drowned out by a deep roar. The black spider was rammed from the side by another dark shadow – thickset, heavy, and strong. Onto its back went a lighter shadow, a lighter creature. A slimmer dark animal darted onto the path before them and growled before turning to check on them. Shining black eyes in a dog's face let Harry breathe a sigh of relief; Ron, however, panicked.

"It's a Grim, a Grim! We're dead, we're dead, we're dead!"

"Shut up, Ron," Neville and Harry repeated in unison.

Further ahead, the light shadow leapt off the spider to rebound from a tree to the ground. The acromantula took off, leaving the heavier black shadow behind. Hermione suddenly squeaked and grabbed Harry's sleeve hard.

"Harry… Harry, what is that?"

Deciding it was worth salvaging the fun of the night, Harry responded. "I think it's a bear."

"A _bear?"_ She stared forward again, but Moony was closer. She took a long look at the lighter shadow, the more canine shadow of a wolf with a tufted tail, and then whimpered. "No, God no, Harry what have you done?"

"Saved your lives, I take it," a man's voice cut in.

Hermione spun and fell over. Ron shrieked, and Neville bit down on his sleeve.

Harry tried to let Hermione down more slowly before answering, "Hi, Dad."

"Harry, what are you doing out here?"

Behind them, the bear also changed shape as Padfoot moved over to keep Moony company. Frank Longbottom stepped up behind his son and gave them a stern look as well.

"Um…" Harry tried to think of a good excuse and opted to run his hand through his hair to stifle his nerves. "For the Hell of it? I wanted to check out the forest, Dad! I was sure you'd be out here in case we ran into trouble!" Actually, he really hadn't thought he'd be here, but he was bloody glad for it!

"Yes, I would be out here with a _werewolf_!" James glared, his face twitching. "If Remus wasn't dosed with wolfsbane, he'd be trying to kill you just like that acromantula."

"But he is dosed," Harry insisted. "I know he's dosed. He's sane!"

"You shouldn't even be out here!"

"Did you ever care about that?"

James couldn't argue that. Harry smiled tightly at his father and then ducked his head. "I would like to be out of here now, though. I think that was more than enough excitement." He shifted on his heels and smiled. "I was more than ready to think of something to do. I did kill a basilisk, Dad."

His father doubled over laughing, his hand over his eyes. "Merlin, boy, you kill me! I'm going to lose my hair by the time you graduate!" Behind them, the grim was making a chortling noise, and the werewolf was rolling on the ground. Frank had hugged his son and stepped back, staring at the canopy.

"Alright," James agreed. "Alright, you four, we'll escort you out. Don't get caught getting back to bed, and we won't tell anyone. Okay? And Harry." He stared at him. "Don't try this again. You've been into the forest. Call it enough, all right? Moony isn't always the only werewolf in the forest. And there's more acromantula than that one."

Harry nodded seriously and watched his father and Neville's fade into the forest, Frank changing to a lumbering shadow, and his father to a sleek stag with a tall, majestic rack.

Hermione finally allowed him to help her to her feet, and Ron's breathing had returned to something more normal. They started walking silently, sometimes looking back to see one of the three Animagi on the trail behind.

Ron squeaked every time it was Sirius standing there, and finally Harry offered.

"It's Sirius, Ron. It's not a real Grim. You don't have to keep freaking out."

Ron turned a little red.

"What's a Grim?" Hermione asked.

"It's supposedly an omen of death," Neville answered. "If you see one, you are going to die soon thereafter."

"It's not superstition!" Ron insisted. "My uncle –"

"Your uncle probably died of fright if he reacted anything like you." Hermione sniffed.

"Hermione," Harry scolded. "Be nice."

"Well, if seeing one out here is an omen, we're really dead," Hermione added. "After all, we already nearly died. If it weren't for your father –"

"If it weren't for my father," Harry added, "We wouldn't even be seeing a Grim, because that Grim happens to be my godfather."

"Doesn't say much about Sirius as a person, though," Neville smiled.

Harry rolled his eyes. "We're almost out."

"Good to know," Neville sighed and yawned. "Yikes, that was more than enough for me."

"How long have we been out for?" Ron asked lightly. "Two hours?"

"Quite long enough," Hermione insisted. "I still have to finish my Enchantments work."

Harry laughed. "Merlin, Hermione, do you have your priorities straight."

* * *

A/n: And a little late. Noon counts, I swear! I live on the West Coast, c'mon.  
Whatever. Hope you enjoyed the trip into the forest, and see ya in two weeks.

Please Review?  
Fire & Napalm


	15. Chapter 15

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Fifteen:**

"Wednesday, Harry?" Alan asked as he came into the hall.

"I'm trying to avoid Remus' eye," Harry offered, leaning the chair back. They were underground in the Chamber of Secrets to avoid attention. Remus had been watching him closely the last few weeks. He knew he wasn't upset, but he also knew he was wondering why.

"I gathered you were being a bit twitchy." Alan gestured around the room they were in and smiled. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Acromantula, summer plans, Severus, my mother, Quidditch…" Harry shrugged. "Something other than homework."

"Hermione still being strange?"

"Well, I did hear that she ditched Divination on Monday. Just threw a fit: walked right out." Harry rubbed his face. "If we can get her to ditch Muggle Studies and the even less common electives, she'll be down to twelve classes."

"Do you have any idea how she's doing it?"

"Whatever it is, she's doing hours two or three times a day." Harry shrugged. "That's breaking a few laws of physics as well as the Ministry ones."

"I think the only thing that can do that is a Time-turner." Alan frowned. "Certainly if she's doing it reliably."

"How the _Hell_ did she get a hold of a Time-turner?"

Alan shrugged. "Just an idea. So, what did you do with my suggestion of breaking a few rules?"

"Snuck into the Forbidden Forest, nearly got eaten by an acromantula, and got saved by a werewolf," Harry deadpanned.

"Oh, so that's why Professor Lupin keeps watching you," Alan laughed. "I was wondering if you'd gotten caught. I haven't heard you had detention – why are you staring at me?"

Harry shook himself, shocked. "How do you know he's a werewolf?"

Alan stared at him. "Um, Harry? Lyall Wolfgang? Wizarding Culture teacher, Etiquette teacher, receptionist – not to mention the Healing teacher for the first two years – is another werewolf. I know the signs, Harry; it's not hard. What's with the look?"

"Alan…" Harry shook himself. "He doesn't like people to know."

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Alan demurred. "Some just aren't happy with it being known, I know. It's like any disease – What do you think your chances of winning the Quidditch cup are?"

Harry shook himself off again and continued the friendly conversation. He was glad they were in the Chamber of Secrets now – somehow he didn't think Alan understood just what it meant for Remus being a werewolf on this continent. He didn't want to explain it, though – it would just be way too hard, and he didn't want to hear him arguing how backwards their society was. Alan was irritatingly prone to look disgusted when he disagreed with things.

Harry knew British wizards were idiots already. He didn't need reminding of it – he'd change it once he could, but not now. That wasn't going to happen for years yet.

Alan paused in his summer plans and tilted back towards him. "You mentioned Severus and your mother. What about them?"

"Nothing much." Harry quickly checked the time and smiled. "C'mon, or we'll be skirting curfew, and you'll have to bullshit Zabini again."

Alan rolled his eyes but stood. "God forbid I have to bullshit Blaise. He really doesn't take it well." Leading the way out, he added, "And that isn't going to make me forget my question, Harry."

Swearing under his breath, Harry tried to pull his thoughts together. "Alright, alright. I just … It's too weird, Alan. I'm not talking about it."

"Well, I think my dad would be in a better mood, or at least he'd be more smug if he was sleeping with her, so it's not that –"

"_Alan_!"

"Just checking, honest!"

"That was not it, and you know it! Merlin, you didn't have to even say that!"

"Yeah, but it was funny."

Harry bristled and drew his wand. Alan raced him to the tunnel, shouting the command to turn it into stairs. After the first ten metres, they fell silent, breathing hard. It was a lot of stairs, and while they were used to them, running wasn't conducive to continuing a pointless argument. After a minute, Alan asked again, "Seriously, though. Did you even have a question?"

"Not really," Harry breathed. "I just… I suppose I still don't get it. How they're friends, when we both know Severus was a Death Eater? How they met? Why my mother stayed with my father anyways? All I ever hear is that my dad grew up and she found out she loved him. I never hear anything of what happened between her and Snape. I guess they just never really knew, and I can't help but be curious…" He paused as he came to the top, Alan waiting and watching him from beside the sinks. "And, well, that's just not something I really want to ask Severus."

"Why not ask your mom?"

Harry shrugged and straightened. "I guess it's just the same reason." He glanced at the serpent tap. "_Close_."

"I don't think she'll have any problems with it, Harry. But it's your choice." Alan turned to head to the door. Harry hung back a little, letting it settle in – it was a change, going from just talking with Alan to returning to the real world, and he was thinking through why he didn't ask his mum. Wouldn't that make sense?

He stepped through the door without looking and walked into someone. Opening his mouth to start in on Alan, he looked up and found himself staring at red hair.

"So…" Percy sniffed. "... meeting with Potter, are you? I thought you two were rivals."

"So sorry," Alan sneered. "I'll be sure to cause a bit more collateral damage next time."

Harry immediately backed away and growled, frustrated at Percy and turning it on Alan. "You cause collateral damage without trying, _Prince_!"

"Enough!" Percy yelled. "What were you two doing in a _girls' bathroom_?"

There was a small crowd of students around them. It wasn't really that late yet. Alan sniffed and turned deliberately away. Harry settled for sullenly leaning against the wall.

"The silent treatment is not going to work," Percy growled. "You were up to something, and I demand to know what! A Gryffindor and a Slytherin have no business together, and you were most likely concocting trouble."

"I don't need _his_ help to concoct _anything,_" Harry growled.

"I was under the impression you were terrible at anything resembling a potion, Potter," Alan drawled.

Someone in the crowd spoke up. "Maybe they were just working on something together." They then laughed, joined by their friends.

"Yeah, rivalry is sometimes just a front for worse things."

"Maybe they were stirring up something more than trouble. Alan's got a pretty enough face to fool a Gryff into thinking he's a girl."

Harry felt his face stain red as the suggestions started to get worse. Alan's hands tightened, and his lips went thin and white. After a blatantly lewd suggestion was shouted out, Percy, scarlet to his ears, snarled, "Enough! Both of you, you have detention with McGonagall until I get a solid answer. Now get back to your dormitories, and you both go opposite directions and no fighting!"

Harry's grip on his wand was so tight he consciously let go so he didn't break it. He brushed past Alan, deliberately hitting his shoulder and snarling.

If there was one thing he did not want to put up with, it was the suggestion he and Alan were a _couple_. Merlin's balls!

"Hey, I hear Slytherins are good with the one-eyed snake," someone suggested.

Harry spun and pressed his wand into their gut. A quick hex, and he stalked past, letting him fall to the ground, vomiting slugs. The rest of the crowd parted easily, and Harry returned to the common room to throw himself into the couch, where Neville was helping Hermione keep tabs on her homework. Both only glanced at him; Ron was the one who looked hard enough to ask, "What happened?"

He'd been coming up with an excuse for the presence in the bathroom. He didn't care if their stories didn't match; one of them would likely lie anyways, whatever the reason. Anything was better then the rumour, or the truth.

"You remember how Myrtle helped me find the Chamber?" Harry offered. "She popped into my shower early this week and demanded I visit, or she'd pop in again. I went down to check on her, and the scheming little ghost had done the same thing to Prince. She was enough of an annoyance, we didn't bother hexing each other until we got out into the hall, but your damn brother was there." He wasn't faking it when he lost it and snarled again.

Neville finally looked up. "I gather it wasn't just Percy out there?"

"A crowd of students are now debating whether or not Prince and I are just being rivals for show to cover up –" He stood up and stormed upstairs, too angry to care anymore. Once at his bed, he stared at his trunk before kicking it, furious. He didn't want people thinking it was only for show! He _liked_ their rivalry. He liked someone to challenge him. But for Merlin's sake, for _God's_ sake, it wasn't like he liked guys! He was thirteen! He'd only just noticed girls, and he liked them just fine, thank you very much!

If anyone brought that up to his face tomorrow, he was not going to care how many detentions he got. They were going to eat their bloody shoes!

Cautiously, Neville poked his head into the dorm. "Hey, Harry. You okay?"

"No, I'm not." He slammed open the trunk and began to sift through his books. He had something in here that would be perfect for his arsenal tomorrow.

"They're just rumours, Harry. You know they aren't true; I know they aren't true."

"Yeah, and what the bloody Hell is Prince going to do to me when everyone starts thinking we're buggering each other? _Fuck it all,_ Neville. Just, fuck!" Throwing the book onto his bed, Harry slammed his trunk shut and spun on his friend. "I'm sick of this! I'm sick of Slytherin and Gryffindor and school and those bloody stupid people out there who always assume something dirty about anyone who are friends! What, am I going to get accused of buggering _you_ next?"

"Harry… you know the older students do that."

"That doesn't mean I like it! Fuck, Neville, what are my parents going to think?"

Neville stretched gently and yawned. "So write them and explain. Your dad wouldn't believe that one for a moment."

Harry dropped onto his bed and laughed quietly. "Yeah, I know. It's not true; I know that."

"Mhmm, you just weren't thinking."

Harry sat up and smiled weakly. "Yeah, thanks, Neville. Go burst your brain trying to keep up with Hermione."

"Gah, good luck." He stretched again and wandered down the stairs. Harry sat back against his headboard and began to read. Someone was going to regret talking at him tomorrow. If he made them regret it badly enough, fewer people would bug him later that day as well.

Sounded good to him.

IIII

Harry was, for once, sitting next to Alan in a classroom; they were both serving detention with Snape for the eighth time in two weeks, making this the end of their Easter Break. Harry was confident he had dissected, dismembered, and disembowelled far more amphibians, rats, and other animals than they could possibly need for Potions class, but still they found themselves doing something else every time.

For the time being, he was working with beetles.

He hadn't known beetles could be so… juicy.

He was wiping bug guts off his glasses for what had to be the fifteenth time that evening when someone knocked on the classroom door. Snape got up to get it; Harry sighed heavily and took a moment to give his glasses an extra polish before putting them back on.

"Potter."

He looked up.

"Come here. Professor Lupin wishes to speak with you." When he came abreast his teacher, Severus added, "You are still expected to return to finish your detention."

Harry nodded and followed Remus further up the hall to an alcove where his teacher sat down and motioned for him to join him. The man spoke up with a wry smile.

"I believe you have exceeded the number of detentions James got in his third year by now, Harry. What was this last one for? I think I heard something about turning a boy's face upside down and then reattaching it to his lower back?"

"That last wasn't me; Prince got in his own hex there. I think he was aiming for a buttface. The git deserved it."

"Ah, another of the rumours." Remus leaned forward. "Harry, what really happened?"

Sighing heavily, he explained the cover again: Alan had concurred as soon as he heard it; his explanation had also blamed Myrtle. Remus was nodding at the end and gently touched his shoulder.

"I know you don't appreciate the rumours going around, but getting in trouble is not going to help you much."

"Oh? Then what _will?"_

Remus scratched his head with a small, coy smile. "Maybe getting a girlfriend –"

"Remus, I'm not picking up a girl just to get rid of a rumour! I'm not that mean, and I don't even like girls yet. I mean, I like girls, but I don't want a girlfriend. I'm thirteen!" Harry had stood, pacing, and finally threw himself back down. "I don't want to give anyone ideas."

"Alright, it was only a suggestion. It worked for Sirius in fourth year." Remus smiled and added, "Your father would have reacted much the same. He certainly liked Lily by then, but, well … let's just say he got a lot of detentions for it."

"That's because my dad was a miserable prat." Harry smiled anyways.

"Yes, he was. The rumours will probably go away soon enough on their own. Just try not to let it get to you."

"I know," he mumbled. "I just don't want to hear it. No offence, Remus."

Standing, Remus ruffled his hair and urged him up as well.

"None taken. Okay then, your father can now stop panicking illogically, and you know what kind of person you are. Don't let anything change that."

"I won't, Remus." Harry bounced forward to walk backwards. "You tell my dad he's an idiot for fretting about something that stupid."

"I definitely will. Go enjoy your detention."

Harry made a face, but ducked back inside the classroom. Severus didn't even look up, but grandly indicated the station he'd been at before. Picking up knife and beetle, he returned to removing the shells and spilling guts everywhere.

Within five minutes, he'd smeared his glasses again.

At least he didn't have to wash his eyes out each time like Alan did.

IIII

Harry sat at his table in the library and ran his fingers over a small paper note he'd received. It was the same as one he'd gotten earlier in the year, February actually – the first. He spread it out with a frown. The first of May. He didn't know who had sent it, though…

"Happy Beltane?" Alan asked.

Harry nearly jumped out of his chair. "Alan! Don't do that!"

He snorted. "Oh, fun. A month and a half without meeting me here, and you forget everything. I feel special now. Really, though, what's Beltane?"

"It's a festival. Some purebloods still celebrate it, some don't. It's the coming of summer and the fields – May first." Harry shrugged. "It's one of the marks of the seasons celebrated throughout the year. There's eight throughout the year, Yule to Imbolc to Beltane…" he paused, checking them off on his fingers, "I think I'm missing one, but then to Lughnasadh, Mabon and –"

"Samhain," Alan supplied. "Hallowe'en."

Harry blinked. "Yeah, Samhain. How'd you know that one?"

"A friend." He shrugged, and then smiled wickedly. "Hey, I have pureblood friends myself, Potter. I can pick these things up. That wasn't eight though."

"I never remember them all." Harry shrugged. "We don't celebrate them anymore except the ones that are popular now."

Alan nodded and stretched. "Merlin, Mary, and Morgan, this has been interesting. You won the Quidditch Cup." He smiled. "Feel happy?"

Harry grinned. "Yep. More than. That was _awesome;_ Cedric flies really well, he's just nowhere near so bold as I am."

"Harry," Alan whined, collapsing onto the table. "Nobody _sane_ is as bold as you are. You're nuts on a broom! I swear you leave your sense behind when you start flying."

"I haven't seen you complain," Harry grinned. "Last I checked, you kept up with me pretty damn well – especially for someone who – what was it you said – 'Doesn't like Quidditch'."

Alan sat up again and grinned. "What's with the furore about Pettigrew anyways? You'd think someone would care about a perverted little black rat. I'm surprised they're still allowed."

"It'd be stupid to ban them completely," Harry countered, "but fancy rats and female rats are considered fine. It's just the black male ship rats you have to watch out for."

"A sewer rat?" Alan raised his eyebrows. "Really? How'd he end up with that Animagus?"

Harry shrugged. "I think they just thought he wasn't really strong – he wasn't, really. And he's a ship rat – sewer rats are brown."

"What does strength have to do with anything?"

Harry frowned. "Didn't they ever play with Animagi at Salem?"

"Nope. Everything but, it seems."

Running his hand through his hair, Harry sighed. "Animagi… a physical representation of who you are, pulled from a template in your magic using a non-discriminate transfiguration spell that can really go bloody wrong if you don't know what you're doing."

Alan blinked. "Now I'm _really_ surprised nobody ever tried that."

"Why?"

"Well, they've gone wrong on just about everything else. Hell, Green's got a list of potions he's forbidden to try again because he's made them go wrong – which includes Polyjuice and Pepper-up, which he turned into an aphrodisiac – and Amaranth got several books hexed against him, too." Rubbing his chin, he added, "And no one's let Thomas near an automatic weapon since he shot the wrong tree…"

"Okay, okay!" Harry laughed. "You sure make me glad we're on a different continent."

"I'm sure there's some crazy people here, too," Alan shrugged. "One of the Alfaerus married a Durmstrang graduate and lives here with him."

"Yeah, and then there's my godfather." Harry smiled. "But they aren't _that_ bad. The only thing Sirius has been forbidden is… something to do with a poodle."

"Isn't he an Animagus, too?"

"Yeah, a Grim."

They both fell silent for a moment before bursting out laughing. When he could finally speak, Alan grinned.

"I've missed talking with you, Harry."

Harry nodded quickly. "Yeah, me too."

"Damn that Percy."

Harry shook his head. "He's a stuffy brat, but not worth that. We just need to be careful."

"Yeah." Alan gave him a wry grin. "You just need to hex me next time you see a crowd outside."

Harry shrugged. "That'll do."

Alan looked at him, curious about his tone, before returning to reading. Harry tried not to shrink down at the idle tone he'd used.

He didn't regret the façade. He didn't have any choice in it; there was nothing he could do to make it go away.

He just wasn't ready yet. That was probably it.

But when would he be?

IIII

Alan yawned coming out of History on Monday the beginning of May, falling easily behind his friends who were eager to get started on their homework. Blaise was trying to get Daphne off his back about studying for the exams coming up in a month. Alan was eager to avoid her insistence as well, and once they were around the corner, Alan quickly skipped to turn the opposite way and get out of sight in case they came back for him. After three years, you'd think they'd realize he didn't need their company _every moment_. Some days, he thought Blaise was convinced he'd still get lost without help.

This year had been an interesting one. Perverted rats, a delightful rivalry, and talking Severus into giving him a few more advanced books to try had definitely made it worth it. He'd also never tell the man he'd enjoyed staying at his place over the last two summers – but he'd been summoned home this year, back to his aunt and godfather. He was going to talk them into the Quidditch World Cup – although not anywhere his godfather could hear.

Going back through it all, the year would have been unremarkable if there hadn't been a complete panic about a sewer rat – ship rat, he corrected himself. He didn't get the problem – why the fuck had the Minister put Dementors near students? It was an overreaction for a single, traitorous rat from a war over twelve years ago. Sure, Harry had plenty of reason to hate him – he'd nearly gotten his parents killed. But the Minister?

Ridiculous.

Speaking of, Alan's eyes tracked to the side as a shadow rippled. He spun and a black rat stopped to stare at him for a moment. It ducked down and continued on its way. He almost didn't react – Harry had said fancy rats and female rats were fine – but he quickly lit his wand to check.

He didn't think female rats had that kind of tackle under their tail.

Alan took off after it, running quickly. The rat ran as well, scuttling next to the walls and looking for a hole. Not wanting to lose the rat, he pulled his wand. "_Stupefy!"_

He missed the first time, but not the third. The black rat collapsed in the crook of the wall, and Alan picked him up by the scruff. He was comfortable enough, as he'd handled rats before – usually not for long, as one of the triplets usually wandered off with them and they never returned. Well, except for the one they turned blue…

This one was definitely male, and black. A black ship rat, in a school full of cats… Right. But he didn't know anything of how to test a rat for what it might or might not be.

He did, however, know a few people who did and who might have fun with it, too.

He took himself into the library and wandered the shelves. He spent so much time in here he'd learned who visited where all the time, especially after classes were done. A left at the romance novels and – there.

"Grayson?" Alan asked politely.

A group of four sixth-year girls turned his way. Alan held up the rat.

"Weren't you looking for this?"

IIII

"Potter! _Potter_!"

Harry spun around in the hall and stared as Romilda Vane darted up to him and grabbed his robes. She began to drag him back the way she'd come, tears in her eyes.

"What is it?" Harry asked, bewildered. Vane wasn't a girl he'd wanted to follow anywhere, _especially_ not when she was crying.

"It's Melanie! We got separated; she went to the library. When I found her, she... I can't get her to wake up!"

Harry stopped dragging and ran up beside her, catching himself before he passed her. "Where in the library?"

"Outside, near the North staircase by the doors."

Harry ran ahead and then stopped – he needed Remus. "Romilda, go get Remus – Professor Lupin."

"I don't know where his office _is_ –"

"The second floor, above the classroom – just go the same way you'd go on the first!"

She squeaked and went, and Harry continued upstairs to the library. Melanie was on the floor where Romilda had said – Harry dropped beside her and shook her shoulders. "Melanie! Melanie!"

She was limp, but warm. Harry felt mildly relieved she wasn't pale and cold, but aside from that, he didn't know what was wrong. She showed no signs of injury.

There was a flurry of irate noise from the library. Harry turned and found himself staring down the wands of four irate sixth and seventh-year girls from mixed houses. He stared at them blankly, and one of them gasped.

"Oh Merlin, is she alright?"

"I, I don't know," Harry said. "Didn't you hear anything?"

"No!" one hissed. "We were busy with that Goddamn rat!"

"Grayson!" one girl in Hufflepuff colours gasped.

"Oh shut up," the girl addressed as Grayson argued. "Here, I think I know what's wrong with her. _Ennervate_."

Melanie groaned, then curled up in a ball.

Grayson looked wary. "Uh oh..." she mumbled.

Harry grabbed Melanie's shoulders and got a shriek. He jerked back. "Melanie, it's just me! It's Harry!"

"Harry?" she mumbled, then rubbed her eyes. "I'm seeing double, and it hurts. Where is he? What happened?"

"Where is who? Who attacked you?"

"I don't know! I think – the rat, Astoria's rat, he changed and – I'd caught him, the silly bugger, and he hit me with something and it _hurts_."

Harry was flummoxed for what to do, and so were most of the girls. They were spared the trouble when Remus came up the stairs at a run. Several of the older girls parted to let him through then stalked downstairs. Melanie cried out and reached her arms up to him.

"What's wrong?" Remus asked.

Melanie started babbling a mile a minute. Harry backed off, and Remus cast a few spells before he snagged one of the girls still standing around to take Melanie to the Hospital Wing. As soon as she started to talk away, he pulled out a mirror from his pocket.

"Sirius," he told it. The mirror clouded for a minute before it cleared.

"Remus, I told you I'm at work. What is it?"

"Peter just attacked Melanie. Get James out here now before the trail goes cold. He's leaving the school, I'm sure of that."

"What? Why?"

Remus gave a wry grin. "A pack of sixth-year girls is looking for him."

"We'll be there in ten."

Harry watched Remus put the mirror away and made a small, curious sound. Remus glanced his way then sighed.

"Thank you, Harry. Go downstairs and wait by the classroom, and please let your classmates know what's going on. I need to contact Dumbledore."

Harry obeyed, his mind whirling with thoughts. What was going on? Was Melanie alright? He didn't want to have to explain to Neville what was going on, Neville was going to go batshit on him. The other students gathered over time, and every once in a while, a sixth-year girl would dart past him in high dudgeon. Harry refused to explain what exactly happened, simply saying that Remus had urgent business to take care of.

It became unnecessary to explain when, almost fifteen minutes later, there was a high shriek from the front Hall and the shout,

"Get out of the way!"

As one, the group ran for the front Hall. Harry was behind Neville and Dean in the group, and they came upon a group of girls parted down the middle and Remus and Frank Longbottom standing still at the top step.

Two girls from the group spun on Remus.

"We almost had the spell we needed! I memorized it!"

"It was unnecessary and cruel," Frank countered in a dry tone. "It's more important he be brought into proper custody."

"That's not useful! He was peering at us all year!" Grayson shouted. "Why didn't you catch him?"

"A black rat is an extremely generic description," Remus drawled. "We would be wasting time to catch and test every one we found."

"I say kill them," Grayson growled again. "I hate rats."

"I'm sure rats don't like you either, Grayson." The conversation dissolved into incoherent bickering. Remus and Frank ignored it completely, as did the rest of Harry's class. The girls drifted away before James and Sirius returned from pursuing Peter. With class obviously postponed, the rest of the Gryffindors waited by the front staircase as well.

When the two Aurors did return a half hour later, it was with stoic expressions. Sirius changed back and shook himself out as James explained.

"He went deep into the forest. Too many things that would ignore a rat would eat us," James grumbled. "After the spell Grayson said they looked up, I'd say he won't want to risk coming back here."

Sirius growled, "I'm going to ask to be stationed here for the rest of term. I got a mouthful of scent off Melanie's clothes; my memory's fully caught up with his panicked odour. The Minister can't complain."

"Melanie?" Neville jolted. He turned hurt eyes to Harry, then bolted to his father. "What happened with Melanie?"

Frank waved his son over and hugged him. "Remus, I'm going to go check on her. C'mon, Neville." He left without explaining.

Harry's father came over to him and hugged him as well. "Thank you for checking on her, Harry."

Harry hugged him back, then pulled away, embarrassed. "What made you think the girls scared Peter off?"

"They were looking at castration hexes," James answered blandly. All the boys within hearing clutched themselves reflexively. Harry gaped.

"Is there really...?"

"It's for farmers. It's not meant for people." James winced and sighed. "Bloody cruel, yeah, but the girls were understandably upset."

"Do women always look up those things?"

"Usually," Sirius and James answered in unison. Remus rolled his eyes and waved the Gryffindor students he was supposed to be teaching together. As he told the rest that class was cancelled and to use the rest of the time as a free period, James hugged Harry again.

"You're gonna be okay, Harry." James sighed. "That should be the worst of it, I promise."

Harry hugged his father back and wished he could believe him. He forced a smile. "At least it's not as bad as my first two years."

James shuddered and pulled him close. "Don't remind me. I don't ever want that to happen again."

"It won't, Dad," Harry promised. "I won't let it happen again."

His father kissed his forehead and put an arm around his shoulders to drag him downstairs, talking about visiting the kitchens. Harry let him lead with a light-headed feeling of giddy relief. He was right, actually. He wouldn't let it happen again. He knew better, now, than to foolishly risk his life.

He just didn't think his father would understand it.

IIII

The story was around the whole school by the end of the week and didn't even begin to abate until the week of the exams. The girls in question were completely in the spotlight.

Half of them also kept returning to thank Alan for handing them the rat and telling them to figure it all out. He didn't argue the point – but began to hide as much as possible between classes. In classes, however…

"Prince, are you still going out with all those sixth-years?" Draco asked.

Alan rolled his eyes and ignored him. Just five more minutes…

He survived until the bell released them from Defence, grabbing his bag – already packed while waiting – and hurrying out the door. It was lunch next, nice and generic lunch. He didn't have to sit anywhere near the bloody idiot.

Twenty feet outside the classroom, the Malfoy heir immediately started in on Professor Lupin once again.

"I hope we're getting a new teacher next year, someone with some _class. _He's been working here all year, and I swear, he's worn the same robes every time. He goes missing once a month every month – he's up to _something,_ I know it, and it can't be proper. He's a _teacher._ They're supposed to be on call all the time!"

Alan turned around to walk backwards, facing Malfoy. "You know, some people have better things to do with their time than be at your beck and call, Draco. Teachers aren't the same as servants, no matter what your father told you. He just can't imagine someone not worshipping his feet." He glanced at his friends beside him and added, "Maybe he's just jealous Professor Lupin gets to let loose once a month, rather than be stuck in stuffy robes all the time. I mean, if I was a werewolf, I'd worry a lot less about my 'state of decorum'."

Abruptly, Alan tripped and landed hard on his back. His yelp was cut short as someone reached down to haul him to his feet by his robes. They cut into his throat, and he staggered to regain his feet before he was thrown inside a room nearby. It was dark until the torches were lit with a quick spell. Turning to face whoever had assaulted him, Alan froze.

"Severus, what the Hell was that for?" he cried. "Merlin, Mary, and Mordred, you could've choked me!"

"And your loose lips just cost your beloved Professor Lupin his _job."_

"What?" Alan gaped. "What the _Hell_ are you saying? How did I just cost him his job?"

"Do you merely not appreciate the differences in culture here?" Severus growled. "Werewolves are considered animals."

"They're people!"

"Not in the eyes of the Ministry, and not in the eyes of the populace. They are dangerous beasts best kept away from anyone and everyone. While it may take time, informing Draco Malfoy even so obliquely is a sure way to inform his _father_, which means he has his means to harm you for your presumption, and his dislike of the man himself."

"But…" Alan sank back, horrified. "He's just a werewolf… I thought everyone would've made the connection. Once a month he's just _gone, _and it's always at the full moon, and… I didn't want to lose him his job, I just thought…"

His father rubbed his nose and then pushed open the door again. "You made a mistake. It's not something I think you can correct, but maybe you would feel better informing him of the danger you foolishly brought about. That, or take a minute to yourself. I thought it best to inform you of that before it came back to you from less welcome sources."

Nodding, Alan slipped out the door, standing in the bright hallway and feeling inexplicably small. He no longer felt hungry. He couldn't face Harry, and he wasn't sure he could face his Professor.

Even less did he think he could face himself.

His feet started moving without conscious decision: he found himself standing outside the Defence classroom again, a lump in his throat. Professor Lupin was at his desk, flicking through their assignments that day. He looked up before Alan could think of what to say.

"Prince? Is there something you need?" He frowned. "What's the matter? You look upset."

Alan slipped inside and pressed the door most of the way closed; he didn't want anyone _else_ overhearing.

"Professor Lupin, I …" Alan swallowed. He couldn't speak. There was the sound of a chair sliding, and he blinked to find Remus crouched in front of him.

"Prince, are you alright? What's the problem?"

"I'm sorry, Professor," he choked, "I spoke without thinking; I never thought you could get f-fired for being a werewolf! I didn't know, and I said it to Malfoy, and I don't want you to get in trouble for it!"

The professor's face crumpled, but he didn't pull away. He gently put his hand on Alan's shoulder and abruptly got an armful of upset thirteen-year-old boy. Clutching his robes, Alan tried to stifle his sobs. He shouldn't be this upset! He was too old to cry; he was a boy now. But what else could he do?

It wasn't long before he stepped back, wiping at his face and trying not to look at his teacher. Professor Lupin rocked back on his heels and mustered a sad smile.

"Thank you for telling me. How did you know?"

Alan stared at him, surprised. "You disappear once a month during the full moon? And I know what the sickness before the full moon looks like; I knew two teachers in Salem who were werewolves and everyone knew."

"Ah," Remus started. "Did you… just not know?"

"Yeah." Alan flushed. "I didn't think there was anything wrong with it, but Severus told me Malfoy would get you fired because of it. And I don't want you to go; you're a really good teacher."

"Thank you." Remus straightened and put a hand gently on his shoulder. "Thank you for telling me. I'm not angry with you."

"So…" Alan shrugged awkwardly. "I'll see you next week at the exam, then?"

"You will." Remus smiled. "And I'm sure you'll do very well at it."

Alan waved and slipped out of the classroom. He skipped lunch, intending to go to the library until he stopped, worried he'd run into Harry. Professor Lupin was Harry's friend, a close family friend. He wasn't sure he wanted to know his reaction… and he didn't want to face anyone else's. Finally, Alan opted to go down to the dungeons, slipping into his father's office even knowing he wasn't there.

He was definitely skipping Care. He'd face his classmates in Arithmancy later.

But he wasn't facing Harry any sooner than he had to.

IIII

Harry had noticed that Zabini and Greengrass were eating without Alan, but as they seemed to be talking intently and waiting for him, he didn't think anything of it until he didn't show up for Care. They were learning about clabberts, which Hagrid had only acquired one of, and the class was mostly intrigued and a bit disgusted. Harry would have been more interested if Alan were in attendance, but Zabini and Greengrass were only mildly concerned, saying something about him possibly being upset and foolish.

It didn't tell him anything, honestly, but that they weren't concerned meant he could ask him later himself.

After class, it was a predictable discussion: Malfoy immediately went in on Hagrid, but he seemed to have a new angle today.

"What a loathsome servant. Clabberts aren't worth anything more than their silly forehead things, to keep from getting muggle germs. Maybe if my father can get the half-breed out first, it'll be easy to make a case against him too."

His friends all laughed; Harry had to wonder who he meant until he turned.

"Hey, you're friends with Lupin aren't you?"

"That's Professor Lupin to you, Malfoy," Harry growled.

"Not for long he won't be," he crooned. "Did you know he was a werewolf?"

His breath caught in his throat, but Harry turned it quickly into a smile. "Are you mad, Malfoy? He's no werewolf."

"Oh? I'd have thought you'd know enough to pick out the signs. After all, if Prince could do it, I don't see why a few stupid Gryffindors couldn't."

Harry stopped breathing for a moment before he snarled, "Fuck off, Malfoy. Don't compare me to that idiot!" He stormed ahead and struggled with a feeling of betrayal. How dare Prince! He knew better than the tell Malfoy something so... so dangerous! He wouldn't have done it; Malfoy had to be wrong.

"You're a filthy liar, Malfoy!" Hermione scolded.

"Shut up, mudblood. Feeling bad you didn't notice?"

"Stop taunting the poor Gryffindors," Nott cut in. "Potter's just upset his _boyfriend_ betrayed him."

Harry spun and hexed him before breaking into a run into the school. He had only ten minutes before History, but he wasn't going to class. He had to find Prince, and he had to talk to him. He had to find out how Malfoy knew and why he was framing him.

He couldn't think Malfoy was _right._

However, with Prince not attending class, and not knowing his next one, Harry didn't know where to find him. Where would he have gone?

The library was most likely, so he darted upstairs. He was moving towards a secret passage that cut across two floors when he paused; Remus' class was right there. He could talk to Remus. He needed to know.

Stopping at his doorframe, Harry ducked his head and blushed slightly. Remus' face fell for a moment.

"Ah, Harry. Don't you have History next?"

He shrugged. "No, I just…"

"I take it Malfoy has begun to speak up about it?"

Harry inhaled sharply and demanded, "How did he find out?"

"I'm unsure…" He looked up and something in his eyes sharpened. Harry flushed; he knew he'd flinched. He'd forgotten how observant Remus was. "Come inside, Harry. I'll excuse you to your next class, but I only have a few minutes."

Harry trotted up to Remus' desk and frowned at him. "Remus, do you know who ratted you out? Malfoy didn't come up with that on his own!"

"He didn't." Remus sighed. "Alan Prince spoke without thinking. He came to apologize after Professor Snape explained to him his mistake. He apparently figured it out easily and had not known werewolves were treated differently here than they were in Salem." He stared at him for a moment before adding, "He apologized to me, Harry. Do no blame him for this."

"How could he be so _stupid?"_ Harry growled. He was trying not to get upset. "Malfoy is going to have you out of the school by next week!"

"I will inform the Headmaster I intend to resign at the end of the school year," Remus explained. "I will see through the exams, and then be gone. I'm sorry Harry –"

"Sorry?" Harry leapt away from his desk. "That isn't right, Remus! You're going to deny me the best teacher I've had so far, just because Prince has a loose tongue and Malfoy is a vindictive fucking bastard? That's not right; it's not _fair!"_

"Harry…" Remus shook his head. "There is nothing you or I can do, Harry. I'm sorry; I would love to remain as your teacher, but I do not have that option."

"That's bullshit!" Harry shouted. Someone squeaked behind him. He turned to look as his teacher sighed. Remus' next class was filing in – Second-year Hufflepuffs. He turned back to find Remus looking at him sympathetically.

He couldn't take that. Harry ran from the room; he wasn't going to class. He couldn't go to class. He had to calm down, and he couldn't do that in the soporific classroom full of Binns' droning voice.

IIII

Harry considered approaching Alan in Potions; he was still furious, but Alan was not stupid. He skipped Potions. Harry didn't see him at lunch, and it was halfway through Meditations before Professor Zen snapped his fingers in front of his face to get his attention back on the assignment. After listening to a curt admonishment to not endanger his grade, Harry was surprised he managed to put it out of his mind even for five minutes, much less twenty. Upon leaving the class, however, his mind returned to his problem. It occupied his mind until he saw Alan following Zabini into the great hall, complaining every step of the way.

Harry had had enough. He stormed out from his friends and spelled Alan up against the wall. Black eyes met his and turned away. Alan cancelled the spell and waved a hand negligently at Zabini.

"Move, we have something to settle," the Slytherin sneered, but his face was too soft.

"Alan," Zabini began.

"Get lost," Harry growled. Grabbing Alan's shoulder, he shoved him down the hallway. He slipped into an empty alcove, and after most of the students had gone, Harry grabbed his robes, pinning him against the wall.

"What was going through your head to tell _Malfoy?"_

"I didn't mean to," Alan growled. He wouldn't meet his eyes. "I thought… I thought he knew, I thought everyone knew, okay? I was wrong."

"What made you think they'd know? You knew he didn't want it known!"

"No, Harry." He pushed him away. "I knew nobody _talked_ about it. That was it, okay? I got the impression where I grew up it was fine; Lyall told me I was just overexposed or something. I don't know, but apparently, I got it wrong. I'm _sorry,_ okay? I don't want to lose Professor Lupin anymore than you do. Maybe nobody will complain…"

"There's no point to that," Harry growled. "He's resigning after exams."

"What?" Alan yelped. "Why?"

"Because he doesn't want to _know_ if they will complain or not," Harry sneered.

"Bloody coward."

Harry punched him as hard as he could. Alan staggered out of the alcove and moved for his wand, Harry sliding his own into his hand. The fight halted as someone grabbed his arm, matched with a mirror grip on Alan.

"Enough, both of you," Severus interrupted. "To my office, now." He pushed Alan ahead and kept a grip on Harry's arm. Fuming silently, Harry allowed him to lead the way. The door was opened and then shut behind him. Harry deliberately chose a position on the far side of the door from Alan, keeping his distance.

"You are fortunate Zabini is unwilling to let you out of his sight," Severus addressed Alan. "You both would be serving detention once more were it not exam week. As it is, I understand this conflict and ask you to leave it behind. Potter," he stared until Harry met his eyes, "Prince did not act maliciously against Professor Lupin. Let it go; your teacher and friend has made his own decision to leave, and it isn't your place to tell him otherwise. Prince, do not incite him again. You made a mistake. Accept it."

He stood abruptly with a firm look. "You have exams to study for, and summer homework to begin. Leave, now."

Harry slid out the door and grumbled to himself. It helped to know, it helped to talk, but things just hadn't been resolved. He passed Alan, knowing he was staying behind with his father, and then pushed it aside to go back to supper.

IIII

Harry was awake dreadfully early the day of his Defence exam. Remus had warned him it would have a boggart in it – a full obstacle course, apparently – and he walked the edge of the lake throwing rocks in the foggy morning light. It would be a horrible way to end Remus' year here, with his 'star student' failing the end test.

"I thought you might not sleep."

Harry spun and swallowed hard, nodding to his teacher. "Mornin', Remus."

"Good morning."

Harry stopped where he was on the bank and hugged himself gently.

"Do you still not know what to do?"

He shook his head in silence.

"Sit down for a minute, Harry."

"Why?" he asked, but did as he was told.

"I just want you to think about some of the funniest things you've heard the Marauder's say."

"That doesn't help."

"What about embarrassing? You didn't take Meditations for nothing, think on it for a little."

Harry glared at him and gave in, running it through his head. How many times had he listened at the table to their day? At least a few times a week. Usually he liked hearing about their exploits; usually something went wrong.

"Remus?" Harry asked softly. "Can people get hairballs, too?"

"If they eat the wrong things. Why?" Remus' mouth twitched.

"Dad ate a lot of weird stuff as a deer."

"He did. He's worse than Sirius like that. He actually _has_ had to cough something up before."

Harry started giggling. Remus sat down next to him and ruffled his hair.

"I knew you could think of something."

"Dad wouldn't forgive me for that, would he?"

"I think your dad would laugh to see you turn your boggart around so well. Would that he'd choked every time he spoke like that."

Harry leaned against Remus' shoulder and sighed, nodding softly. He could do this. He knew he could.

IIII

Harry couldn't get a single word past Ron's excitement about the Quidditch World Cup, even on the train on the way home. He supposed it was a way to avoid thinking – thinking about the confusing admission Hermione had finally made to using a Time-turner all year (and the relief that she was going to give it up) and Remus resigning, the school's mixed reactions, and Harry's own bad temper.

He was just glad to have something else to think about. Dumbledore had been watching him even more, and his mother had informed him obliquely that he was going to visit their family soon after he got back home. He wasn't looking forward to it.

Between everything and his friend's attempts to lift his spirits, he hadn't gotten away at any point that Alan could – they hadn't met in the library at all, one of the Slytherins always glued to Alan's side. The only thing he could look forward to was getting a letter from him over the summer.

But would he even want to write? Their last exchange, Harry had punched him. He'd still be angry. He'd forgiven Alan, seriously – he couldn't afford to lose the only friend who understood him – but how to get that to him? How could he know? He didn't want to write the first letter, because what if Alan didn't read it? Worse, what if he was found out because of it?

"Crookshanks, there you are!" Hermione crooned. "You disappeared; you can't do that, we're almost home! Hey, look at this. Harry, Ron, look."

Blinking out of his morose musings, Harry leaned forward to find Hermione accepting a paper from Crookshanks' mouth. She unfolded it once and then frowned.

"That's strange. _'I'm sorry'_." She looked up. "Who'd be apologizing to me? I don't know the writing, and there's no signature."

"Let me see." Neville took it and flipped it over. "Nothing…"

Harry took it, a lump in his throat. As expected, he saw the note and knew the writing immediately. How Alan had talked Crookshanks into it, he didn't know, but he needed to keep the lump down. Shaking his head, he handed it to Ron and kept a frown on his face. He knew he'd been sulky for the past week – no need to break it now. Ron accepted it with a frown and handed it back to Hermione.

"Oh well." She folded it again and put it on her pile of books. Harry fought down a smile. A few minutes later, his friends started a game without him, and Harry used the spell Neville had scolded him not long ago for not knowing: the summoning charm. He'd practised a lot and knew enough to get it simply mouthing the word. It was just a piece of paper, after all.

The paper slipped through the air and into his lap. Sliding it up, he leaned back his book – he'd been staring blankly at his Transfiguration summer work – and pulled out a quill. He outlined the title of the paper required, and then wrote on the back of Alan's note: _'Accepted'_.

A few minutes later, it was dry enough, and Harry beckoned Crookshanks over. The cat stretched and yawned before meandering over, avoiding the game of Exploding Snap. He handed it to the cat and then closed his textbook, standing and stretching.

"Excuse me, I need out."

He went out the door, and Hermione yelped again, "Crookshanks!"

He turned his head to see the cat go the opposite direction of him. Stifling a smile, he turned away and continued to the loo.

He was looking forward to this summer.

* * *

A/N: I feel really stupid right now... Cleaned this up and everything... and then forgot to post. *Hides*

A/N (9-22): Updated with a few wording fixes to clear up the timeline and what Alan does with the rat.

A little something different this time, and then next. Hope you enjoyed reading. Please review.

I'll likely post in two weeks out of boredom, unless the embarrassment gets to me...

Fire & Napalm


	16. Chapter 16

Part IV

**Chapter Sixteen:**

"Harry, get your arse down here!"

Harry banked his Nimbus and came around. "What?" He snapped.

"Don't bite my head off," Neville scolded. "You're the one abandoning your own birthday party!"

Harry brought his broom down so he was level with his best friend, or at least his public best friend. He would have given much to have Alan around this summer, but the Slytherin had been summoned home to Salem. Harry couldn't even bullshit his way over to Spinner's End with his mother to sneak outside – he'd been seriously considering that tactic last year. He might have even gotten away with it this summer.

Neville met him glare for glare, his fists planted at his sides. "You do realize they're postponing everything for you?"

"Go tell them to buck up and get on with it. I'm not coming in." He cut off Neville's objection, "They didn't invite Moody just to titillate _you,_ Neville; they're trying to get at _me_ again. I'm sick of it!"

Neville's frown went crooked. "Actually, they did invite Moody to speak to me." Harry fell silent. "They thought if they offered me the same lessons, that I might drag you along."

His friend stopped him lifting away with one hand on his broom.

"Harry, c'mon," Neville pleaded. "You're acting like they're twisting your arm to get you to drink poison. Its just _lessons,_ Hell, it's freedom to use magic during the summer _and_ new spells you won't learn in school. What's so fucking terrible?"

Harry jerked his broom free and bristled, "It's them thinking I'm something I'm not, Neville, _that's_ what's pissing me off."

"You're thinking it's that stupid prophecy again?"

"I _know _it's that stupid prophecy again!"

"So what of it?" Neville spread his arms. "The stupid bad-guy is gone, Harry! What's the point of fighting something moot?"

"Since when do you think he's gone for good?"

Neville frowned at him again. "Since Lucius Malfoy stopped acting like he'd have backup other than his money. C'mon, Harry, do it for me? They won't give me the lessons if you don't attend."

That put his hackles up more than anything. As far as either of them knew, Neville was just as viable for that prophecy as he was. But since the beginning of the summer, his parents and Dumbledore had been trying to give Harry extra lessons – they'd offered something similar last year, after the basilisk, but hadn't pressed the matter when he'd turned them down. Now, they were trying to lie and wheedle him into it. He'd been avoiding his family, his friends, and his home with increasing regularity. He had almost been to the point of trying to make himself a fort outside when his birthday came around.

Neville had been able to talk him into things – although not _out_ of anything – since they were six years old. Neville had also been the one to seek out and soak up knowledge like a sponge. Denying him it was unfair – and cruel, in this case, because they turned the responsibility on Harry. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

"One condition." Harry landed and stepped off his broom. Neville listened intently. "I want to learn something else in our free time."

Neville tilted his head to the other side, clearly studying his face. Harry waited to see if he'd understand what he wanted. When Neville smiled crookedly, Harry knew he had. "You get to talk them into letting us into Grimmauld Place, you know. That's the only place where I think they'd have the books you want."

Harry shouldered his broom and began to walk the trail back to his house. Neville kept up easily before pointing out,

"Your Nimbus carries two just fine, Harry."

"Since when do you complain about a walk?"

"When there's a cake waiting at the far end with melting candles, and a lesson on combat magic you don't get in Defence class."

"You want me there, I stay on the ground. The candles aren't melting."

"Spoilsport." Neville didn't press, though, nor did he start running. Harry continued on the way home with a frown on his face.

He was tired of being manipulated.

IIII

Harry jerked awake and slapped a hand over his face. He groaned: he'd had another dream about the combat lessons from Moody. He'd been shouted awake by his subconscious. He had never been happier for summer to be almost over.

Rolling over and muttering incoherently, he blinked and scrubbed at his eyes before fishing around for his glasses: he had taken a leave on cleaning his room, and needed to be able to see to navigate to the bathroom or he'd trip. He found stiff parchment over the square frames and knocked it to the floor. Jamming his glasses on, he leaned down to pick them up, grumbling. He hadn't been _that_ messy; he didn't know where the paper had come from.

It was too dark to read: he fumbled for his wand and tapped the lamp, turning it on. His breath went out in a rush.

"Merlin, we have _tickets!"_ He breathed. He was holding four Quidditch World Cup tickets. The rush of elation lasted nearly two minutes; he finally put them down to hop into the bathroom as he'd first intended, but dropped back into bed with a smile still on his face. He wasn't sure he'd get back to sleep, despite it being five in the morning. He lay back down, folding his glasses on top of the papers, and began to run through what he'd see there. He wasn't sure if he drifted off to sleep or not, but he got out of bed a few hours later, and got ready to go down to breakfast. His feet were moving to the door when he stopped.

Not a month ago, his father had denied that they had tickets. Not two weeks ago, his habit of wandering the halls unseen had resulted in several overheard conversations, including one…

His father had been arguing with Moody about discipline and rewards. James had insisted Harry had earned a reward; Moody had disagreed. His father had argued him down to the last possible moment – for what, Harry hadn't known.

It was the twenty-third of August. The tickets said they needed to be on location the twenty-fourth.

Suddenly his excitement wasn't so great anymore.

Still, he swallowed his irritation and put on a smile. It didn't take much. Whatever ridiculous bargains and betting his father had put on with Moody and Dumbledore, he was going to the Quidditch World Cup – for two glorious days, they didn't have any claim on his time, and he was going to watch an exhibition of the masters of Quidditch and flying.

He was going to give his mother a heart attack. With luck, he'd give his father one too.

Taking off, he barrelled down the stairs as nimbly as he could, catching the doorframe of the kitchen and swinging around, tickets in hand, "What are _these_?" He demanded loudly, glaring and trying not to smile. "And _why_ were they in my room?"

IIII

Neville sniggered again.

"It's not that funny," Harry insisted, hurt. "My father seriously said he hadn't expected me to find them that morning."

"With the state your room is in," Neville repeated, "I wouldn't be surprised."

"It's not that bad!"

"Harry, you couldn't find last year's Defence text two weeks ago. It was somewhere in the far corner; I don't _want_ to know what was on top of it. You probably have a bundimun somewhere in there."

"I do not!"

"Ron, what do you think? Bundimun?"

Ron raised his hands. "I'm not getting into that!"

Harry threw a cracker at Neville. "Whatever. You've had tickets since your birthday."

"Yeah, which sent you off into the air before you'd even opened all your presents."

Harry shrugged, and rolled over. "Whatever. We all have tickets; Ron, don't you have two extra?"

"Yeah, Ludo remembered the Longbottoms had left out Neville and insisted we have one for him, too."

"Use it for Hermione," Neville insisted.

"My dad asked for one extra for her beforehand," Ron pointed out. "So we have two more than our family needs, not just one."

"So you're in the top box, and we're just below." Harry rolled his shoulders. "Sounds like fun."

"You could always trade seats with me," Neville pointed out.

"And sit with Lucius and the Minister? No thank you."

"Neville, that would be a bad idea." Hermione walked over and sat down. "I don't think putting Harry near a Malfoy would be a good idea."

"Oh, c'mon, Hermione," Harry smiled crookedly. "It wasn't that bad of a fight."

"You got kicked out."

"So? I was finished. Malfoy wasn't. Win-win situation." They'd gotten their booklists for school, and everything had been acquired a few days ago. It had culminated in a fight in a very upscale robe store between Harry and Draco Malfoy over Remus being fired, and his supposed 'hopes' for a better teacher this year. They'd been kicked out – fortunately, Harry's dress robe had already been altered as he'd needed. Draco had been denied his, much to Harry's delight.

Hermione sighed, sitting down next to Neville, and turning beseechingly his way. "Please tell me you're joining me for the World Cup."

"For you, Hermione, I suppose I can attempt to be civil to the Minister," He smiled rakishly. Harry refrained from hexing him with difficultly, giving Ron a wry smile and grabbing his Nimbus, snapping his fingers so it lifted up, bringing him to waist height, seated sideways on top.

"How about me and Ron leave you to your kissy-face things, then?"

Neville turned bright red, moving to object. It was easy to take off, Ron following suit on his own broom.

Neville's cursing definitely made his day. Harry turned to wave jauntily, returning to race Ron to the house, where Molly was making supper for the combined families.

IIII

Someone knocked on his door early the next morning, summoning him from the bathroom to pull it open. His mother smiled.

"I see you're up too. Did you send your sister to bug us?"

Harry laughed. "No, I just told her to stop harassing me to get out there already. Not my fault she went after you."

"Well, she did," Lily laughed softly. "Come join us for breakfast, you can check your backpack later, surely?"

Harry followed her downstairs in time to catch his father scolding Nanna again.

"We don't even have to rush to get there," James repeated, "our spot is saved; we're apparating, for Merlin's sake."

"I wanna _go_," Nanna whined. "C'mon, finish eating!"

"Nanna," Harry drew out the chair next to her, "I haven't even started. We're not going until I eat."

"And you! You should be way more excited than this! Don't you like Quidditch?"

Harry grinned. "I do. It means I get to see more moves I can follow, but it's not like I care who wins."

His father made a small, irritated sound – Harry heard Lily smack him for him, and nodded as the house elf put his bowl and plate in front of him. He asked, "I need to pack all muggle clothes?"

"At most you'll need something to change into to sleep in." Lily shrugged. "The game plays out this evening, but it's a muggle campsite, yes. James, that means you leave the scarf behind. You cannot wear a flying scarf."

"It's Quidditch!"

"It's a _flying_ scarf. Scarves do not move in the muggle world. Leave it! Your children know that – how hard is it to remember something like this?"

James rolled his eyes, grumbling underneath his breath as he pulled the scarf off and left it to flutter around the kitchen ceiling. Harry and his sister laughed, finishing off their breakfast and running upstairs to double-check their stuff. Harry spent only a moment looking over the last letter he'd received from Alan before tucking it back under the fake bottom in his drawer. If he were lucky, he'd see Alan when he got there – his friend had successfully pestered his cousin into joining the Alfaerus at the match.

Harry's daypack was all in order – he'd gone over it twice last night – and as noise rose downstairs, he rushed to join them.

"Where's my godson hiding?" Sirius complained. "What kind of kid did you raise, James?"

Harry darted into the receiving room and was nearly pulled off his feet. Sirius ruffled his hair, laughing.

"There's the little tyke! Harry, you almost held us up!"

"Let me go, Sirius! C'mon, I thought I'd forgotten something." The lie came easily off his tongue. "So who's taking whom? We're doing side-along, right?"

Sirius grinned, releasing his arm to hug his shoulders. "I get to side-along you, Prongslet." Harry stifled a groan; he hated that nickname. "Everyone else has their space. Oy, James, is that everything yet?"

A look around the room proved it ready. The kids were each standing next to one of the adults: Harry's sister was going with their father, Neville with his. Alice was taking her youngest, Connor, while Remus was handling Melanie. Everyone was bright with excitement. Harry held tight to Sirius' shirt; he didn't really like side-along apparation, and Sirius made him nervous when he was this excited.

"Five," Lily said. Frank left with a pop. "Four." Remus was gone. "Three-"

Harry felt the air tighten around his body; he was squeezed so tight he wanted to pull free, but had nowhere to go. He couldn't stand it, and something pushed back, harder than he was pinned. The sensation was abruptly gone, and Sirius dropped away from him to fall back, grunting. Harry swore and pulled down his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

"I hate apparation," Harry griped.

"It's not that great," Sirius agreed, "but it's really useful. Normally."

He sounded uncharacteristically bemused. Harry looked around – he saw a lot of trees. Not much else. "Where are the others, Sirius?"

"I think we missed."

Harry groaned. "_Why_ do you always miss, Sirius?"

"I do not!" Sirius frowned at him. "It's usually just when I'm apparating with you. C'mon, we can't be that far off."

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and followed as Sirius began to wander in what was likely a random direction. Harry glared around himself, finding nothing more interesting than a lot of woods.

It fortunately wasn't long before they heard conversation nearby.

"Hey, Sirius!" Harry grabbed his sleeve. "There are people that way."

"Good listening, Prongslet," Sirius said. "I nearly missed that. Let's go."

Harry kept his mouth shut about one of Britain's supposedly finest Aurors and simply followed.

Closer, he could hear and understand the people as speaking English – Harry hadn't been keen on conversing with someone non-English with Sirius 'helping'. They came around the bend as the conversation peaked, and Harry nearly halted: he recognized both men.

"Why should I care?" One yelled. "You don't even remember what you were _doing!_ You were completely off-target, and then you try this stupid stunt – letting go of the portkey, hah hah, _really_ funny, Green!"

Harry stepped in front of Sirius and coughed lightly. "Um, excuse me?"

The yelling man with the long, black ponytail straightened aggressively and spun on them, glaring past Sirius to soften as he came to Harry. "Yes?" He asked.

"Um, do you have any idea where we are?"

"Within five hundred yards of the campsite, and that's all I really know. I take it you're lost as well?"

"We wouldn't _be_ lost if you hadn't dragged me out of Salem like you did!" The shorter man retorted. He was blonde – or, Harry presumed he was. The brilliant colour was somewhere between white, yellow, and green, and decidedly unnatural.

"And if I hadn't dragged you out of Salem, I'd be dragging you back to life before the game was half-done." He spun and pushed the blond to a vague path nearby. "Get moving. It's somewhere that way."

"You don't even know that for sure!" The blond argued.

The brunet pulled his wand and spat, "Point me, Thomas." Spinning, the small piece of wood settled pointing the direction he'd indicated. "Get moving, you know perfectly well how that spell works."

"It's not supposed to work like that, you stole that from Amaranth!"

"Shut _up_, Green!"

Harry let them lead the way, falling back beside Sirius. His godfather was staring at the two men's backs, glaring as though to divine answers about whom they were. Harry took pity on him and indulged his own curiosity.

"Sir?" He asked.

The blond was the one to look back. "Yeah, sprout?"

"Is your _name_ Green? From Salem?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Didn't …" He wasn't sure how to phrase the question. He'd met the man in a way – he'd been present with Alan when the Slytherin had been recovering after second year, when Harry and he faced a basilisk and the memory of Tom Riddle. But Green had been asleep at the time, and Harry didn't know if Green knew Harry was Alan's friend. He didn't really want him to know.

"Do I know you?" Green asked again. "I think you're familiar…"

"He's Harry Potter," The brunet answered. "He helped Alan kill that damn basilisk you picked a fight with Severus over." He finally turned to look Sirius over again, his face etched in a scowl. "You would be…?" He trailed off.

"Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. And you are?"

"Louis Quintelyuv." He offered his hand and shook on it. "I came to Hogwarts to save my cousin Alan's life. Merlin knows I have enough practise with that kind of thing." He jerked his thumb at Green.

"Oh?"

He didn't answer, pulling out his wand and using the Point Me spell again.

"Isn't that only supposed to point North?" Sirius asked.

"My brother – my other one, not this idiot – modified the spell to work to locate a person you know quite well, in whose proximity you tend to stay, or if you program it in – which gets complicated. Thomas Alfaerus is programmed into my wand, thanks to Amaranth stealing it."

Sirius blinked. "You two are brothers?"

"We don't look much alike," Green agreed. "And it's not like you use your wand half the time anyways, Louie!"

Louis smacked the back of Green's head and pointed. "We're continuing that way, if Thomas didn't decide to take a jaunt in the woods himself."

"That's Velorian you want to worry about. Georgette would _kill_ Thomas if he gave her any more kids."

Sirius and Harry exchanged an exasperated glance before continuing to follow the odd brothers to the campsite.

They came to the far side of the campsites, leaving the trees for a flat expanse peppered with tents of all kinds – and of obviously wizarding kinds at that. The clothing on the people they passed was as disparate as the tents. Harry hadn't really thought about how effective his mother's influence had been on their choices. He glanced at Louis and Green. Green was wearing a burn-spotted heavy apron over what appeared to be normal trousers and a t-shirt. Tucked into the large pockets was a set of neon purple dragon-hide gloves; he assumed his black boots were dragon-hide as well. If he lost the apron, Green could look acceptable.

Louis, on the other hand, looked more at home in another century. He was wearing a rough tunic that hung to his knees, and trousers – both of cloth that didn't look remotely modern. At the very least, the brothers were simply eccentric looking: they hadn't tried and failed at muggle clothes.

One of the wizards who had made the attempt – wearing plus-fours and a button-down shirt, of all things – came up to them, looking behind them frantically at the forest.

"You four! What were you doing? There's a place to apparate, it's over there!" He thrashed his hand in the direction and then came back up to continue on them.

Louis stepped forward and towered over him. The poor man looked up from the broad chest at the level of his eyes, and gulped.

"I just force-apparated my reluctant idiot brother a quarter length of the fuckin' planet. I was _damn_ on target with that struggle on my hands. Now, if you'll excuse me – I'll be at the Salem tents." He pulled free and stalked around his shoulder. Green waved jauntily before following, a smile finally crossing his face.

The Ministry worker shook himself and glared. "Black! What were you doing?"

"Side-along apparating my godson, Harry Potter," Sirius answered briskly, looking amenable after Louis' aggressive response. "He was probably a little nervous; you know how it is with teens. There was no one in the immediate area."

The official huffed, but wrote it down and glanced around, furious, before apparating away again.

Sirius mouthed something rude, and smiled brightly at him before starting to walk, searching for James the old-fashioned way – looking. Harry joined him, keeping an eye open for any friends he might be passing. They were just past the enthusiastic Irish when someone hailed him,

"Harry! Over here!"

"Ron!" Harry split from Sirius' side to clap Ron on the back.

"Harry!"

A tall, older boy popped back out of his tent and beamed at him. "Fancy seeing you here! Mum, it's Harry! He won us the Quidditch Cup last year!"

"Hullo Mrs Wood." Harry nodded. "I so did not get that big a win, Oliver."

"Did so."

"Has he been going on about this since you got over here?" Harry asked Ron.

"Yes," Hermione cut in. "He has. Where is your campsite, Harry?"

Harry hesitated, and then shrugged. "I have no idea. Sirius got us lost apparating in."

"How'd you get lost?" Ron asked.

However, Oliver's mother was nodding at Sirius, a wry smile on her face. "I had that problem six years ago taking Oliver to get his first wand. Poor boy was a nervous wreck – I popped in on the far side of the alley, gave his father such a fright."

Oliver turned pink. Harry covered a laugh, and moved to wave them on, stepping back to disengage. Someone ran straight into his back; Harry swore, spun, and the person – a boy his age, he thought – tripped on him again and sent them both to the ground.

"Gerroff! Leggo' me!" The boy scrambled to his hands and knees, and someone ran into him in turn, seizing his hair and jerking it viciously back.

"Give it _back_, Andrew!"

"It's just a letter!"

"Give it _back_!"

"C'mon Alan –"

Alan Prince leaned forward and slammed the boy's face into the dirt next to Harry's chest. The boy – a blond Harry didn't know – spluttered and jerked an arm out from under himself, producing a mangled piece of parchment.

Alan snatched it away and jumped up, growling, "Don't you _ever_ steal my mail again!"

The blond Andrew pulled himself up, his face none the worse for wear despite the violence with which Alan had slammed him down. "That is _so_ from a girlfriend, Alan." He spat a bit of dirt off his lips.

"It's none of your bloody business!"

"You've been in Britain way too damn long," He accused, and took off back the way he'd come. Alan ran his hand over his hair and huffed, breathing hard. He muttered something under his breath, but Harry had to force down a smile.

"So… Prince," Harry began. "Chasing people and stealing mail now?"

"Shut up," Alan growled, stuffing the letter into his pocket. "As if you care – you get, what, mail from you mom and no one else?"

"As if you would know! What are you doing here, anyways?"

"I dunno, maybe watching Quidditch?"

"I thought you Americans only liked Quodpot?"

"You wouldn't know how to play that even if you tried!"

"Enough!" Hermione yelled.

Harry realized he'd taken several steps forward, circling slightly to Alan's right. Alan had done the same, walking back to the open space. Harry coloured – he hadn't even thought to pick a fight, but his blood was hot and the lessons Moody had put into his head were itching to be used. He pulled his hand from his wand and stepped back towards Sirius. Fortunately, Alan looked just as startled for a second, recovering quickly.

"Harry, did you pick up a girlfriend?" He leered, and then waved the comment off, "I do hope you're not hexing my Irish with your fervour; it would be quite the disappointment."

"I don't see how I could affect their play – you're the foreigner, after all." Harry brushed himself off. "Go away before I have to teach you a lesson."

"As if," Alan sneered, but someone called and he made a face before walking off down the aisle.

Sirius huffed. "Is he the Slytherin you've been picking fights with?"

Harry nodded sullenly.

"Good pick. He's a git."

Hermione gasped, but Harry quickly pushed Sirius away from Wood's tent before she could get started. Oliver called Ron back to give him more pointers on his Keeper skills, and they continued their search – finding James, Alice and Frank clustered around a group of tents flying the American flag.

"-You have been managing the threat admirably for the past thirteen years, a real skill to keep alert during such a quiet time." A reddish-brunet wearing a navy and silver robe grinned. "Did it help, having children? Goodness knows my vigilance skyrocketed since Georgette popped out our first baby!"

"It made a big difference," James nodded. "My son and daughter are the most important things to me – I wanted them to grow up safe, and I have wanted it since I first decided to marry my wife. I wanted it enough to risk my life, definitely."

"As did we both," Frank added. "It was a trying time, and I'm glad my children have grown up safe."

"Hey, James!" Sirius called.

The black-haired head turned to grin at them. "Sirius, you dog! Where'd you run off to with my son?"

"Got detoured," He shook his head. "Who's this?"

"Thomas Alfaerus, American Auror," James answered curtly. "He noticed us pitch our tent and hauled over to help and pepper us with questions. He's curious about the war with Voldemort."

"And something about kids?" Sirius clarified.

Thomas grinned rakishly. "I have nine," He specified. "With six-year-old quintuplets. It definitely changes priorities."

Harry raised his eyebrows, skipping past Sirius to tug Alice's sleeve. Quickly, he asked, "Where's our spot?"

"Go past the next through space, and then it's the third one in. There's three tents there, and your sister should be out front with Melanie last I saw."

Harry nodded and went.

His mother found him before he'd spotted the tents.

"Harry!" She shouted. "Over here, now!"

Lily was setting up the fire, and spared only a moment to glare at him, irritated. "Where were you?"

"Sirius got us lost. We had to walk in. We found our way alright, it was just a long walk."

"Where is he? Talking to the American with your father, I presume?"

"Yeah."

She sighed. "You're in the middle tent – to your right – with Neville and Connor. Squeeze in and tuck your bag before you go wandering again, even if you just go hover around your father."

"Right-o." Harry obeyed, ducking inside the indicated tent and grinning at what he'd expected to see. "Howdy," He offered, sitting on the wooden floor of the expanded tent.

Neville raised a hand to acknowledge, him, still reading intently. Harry glanced at the title, _Herbology and Potions_.

"Isn't that Hermione's textbook for Herblore? You're taking Enchantments."

"It's a good read for Potions," He answered, obviously distracted.

Harry settled on his heels, smiling. "You're at the Quidditch World Cup, Neville, and you're reading a _textbook?"_

"You expected something else?"

Harry eyed the book, waiting for Neville to slide his bookmark into place as he turned the page before Harry tugged the book out of his hands and shut it, sliding it across the hardwood floor to tap the wall next to Neville's bag at the cot across the room.

"Harry!" Neville barked, "That was borrowed!"

"Nah, really?" Harry stared, laughing. "C'mon, Neville!"

"Yes! She'll kill you for tossing it around! Don't you dare throw books!"

"I slid it into the wall! C'mon, Neville, have some fun."

"I am," He sniffed. "I happen to enjoy reading. The Cup isn't until evening. Go ask Percy about Crouch or something."

Harry shuddered and waved to his friend as he slipped out the front of the tent once more. Neville had made that very mistake the night before, and been treated to a fifteen minute lecture on Crouch's work ethic as compared to each of his aides. Harry had wanted to cover his ears and sink under the table after the first five minutes – the only other name he'd known had been Templar's. Percy made the Department of International Cooperation sound as dry as Binns.

Back outside of the tent, Harry waved to his mother and moved back towards the Marauders once more: they were still talking to Thomas, who had been joined by an uncannily similar man and Green. Not far beyond them was Alan, arguing quietly with the blond boy he'd been chasing earlier.

"Hey, Harry!" His father called, "Thomas, this is my son, Harry. He's a Gryffindor fourth year in Hogwarts, doing very well."

"Pleasure to meet you," Thomas nodded. "Isn't he the boy that's always putting Alan in detention?"

"Prince gets his own detentions," Harry argued.

"And you just get them with him, hm?" Thomas laughed. "Oh, I was terrible about that, wasn't I Ray?"

"Terrible at what?" The similar man answered dryly. "Getting others into trouble? No, you were actually excellent at that. I don't think I got a single detention without you being involved. And at least three were because someone mistook me for you."

Thomas punched his shoulder. "C'mon, you liked being the good-looking one of us for at least a short time."

"Thom, I _know_ I'm the good-looking twin."

"Hey!"

Harry shook his head and ducked out, both to avoid the argument and because Alan had slipped away. He intended to follow him.

The variety of people was amazing, from every country in the world, and some he'd never even heard of. It was a group of young women that apparently stopped Alan near the woods: the blond Andrew was in the middle of the group, talking animatedly to girls at least two years older than him. Harry drew up at Alan's side, watching the backs of the tents surrounding.

"He'll flirt with anything, Andrew will," Alan began. "He's good with secrets, though, and a really loyal friend."

"Who is he again? I don't think you talk about him much."

Alan frowned slightly, but nodded. "I've mentioned him obliquely. He's a friend, one of a few kids my age who was raised at Salem Institute itself. I guess I spent the most time with him… He's a bit demanding." Alan glanced at Harry and shrugged. "He's a born vampire, and… it's complicated. He's basically like you and me, but he just drinks blood half the time."

Harry blanched. "Does he drink yours?"

"A couple times, yeah. It's not that weird."

"That's kind of creepy."

Alan laughed. Andrew looked their way, and then turned back to the girls, waving them off and trotting over. The girls wandered off, but Harry's attention went quickly to Andrew – he wasn't sure he was comfortable with the vampire boy.

"Hey Alan," Andrew called, "who's this?"

"It's Harry, he's something of a rival."

Andrew smiled. It didn't look all that friendly. "Hello Harry. Isn't this who you got that letter from? Sure he's just a rival?"

Harry bristled, but Alan seemed unconcerned, his hand slipping into his pocket as he smiled softly. "Andrew, I got a real gun from my godfather this year. Back off. You know I like girls."

"Fine, fine!" Andrew raised his hands, smiling and laughing. The discomfort faded away, but Harry still wasn't at ease. "You're sure possessive about his letters."

"We're friends, Andrew, come off it. Do you ever think about anything but sex?"

"Not my fault you're a late bloomer."

"I'm going to be taller than you in less than a year, you might want to be a bit more careful about that."

Harry glanced at the two and frowned. Alan was turning lanky like he'd been stretched from head to toe, and his joints were rough-edged. He was already a good bit taller than Harry was. Harry had started growing himself, but it was going slow. Andrew was a bit taller than Alan, but something about him just looked smooth. Harry felt a pinch of anger at it, but brushed it aside. He was short. He needed to get used to it.

He wasn't even sure if it was the anger about his height, or if he was feeling jealous about Andrew's friendship with Alan. He already suspected Andrew felt jealous – or some uncomfortable emotion – about _him_ being Alan's friend, and he'd hardly met him.

"I will be," Andrew assured Alan, still smiling brightly. "Catch you later? I'm going to check on my dad."

"Has he recovered yet?" Alan asked, smiling.

"Nope. Mom told him she's pregnant, and he lost it. Last I heard, they were back in the tent and nobody had bothered checking on him even after she came back out."

"Makes sense to me," Harry agreed.

The trail they were on came up behind another group of tents. Alan stopped, Andrew drifting a few feet behind him, and watching them. Harry put the vampire out of his mind and focused on his friend.

Alan cocked his head. "So, what seats do you have, Harry?"

"Just below the top box."

Alan grinned. "That's the seats we have. I know a few people who'd kill to get the top box seats." He rolled his eyes towards Andrew.

"My friends are up there," Harry offered. "Neville, Ron, and Hermione. Mr Weasley got tickets from Ludo Bagman himself." Harry frowned. "Why would Andrew want the top box so badly?"

Alan opened his mouth to answer, but Andrew stepped back up to them, so quickly Harry blinked, sure he'd missed it. The vampire draped an arm around Alan's shoulders, seemingly oblivious to Alan's immediate annoyance.

"The Minister would throw a fit," Andrew pointed out. "That's half the fun, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged. "What I'd like to see is the Malfoy's reaction."

"The Malfoys?" Andrew asked, smiling brightly. "That would be something, huh?"

Harry nodded, staring for a moment at Andrew's face. Something just looked off. His pale hair made his skin look warm, but there was something about his eyes…

Andrew noticed his attention and smiled widely, his teeth bared. None really stood out for a second until abruptly the teeth just in from his incisors lengthened significantly – turning wickedly sharp. They were gone just as quickly, and Andrew licked his lips.

"Something tells me vampires aren't all that common over here."

Harry shook himself, and Alan straightened, forcibly removing Andrew's arm from his shoulders.

"I should be getting on my way," Harry offered. "It's been nice talking to you, Alan. Nice meeting you, Andrew."

Alan nodded brightly. "Nice chatting with you, too."

Andrew gave him a long look over that made Harry want to start walking then and there. He smiled slowly, languidly. "Nice meeting you too, Harry."

His tone suggested several things his smile confirmed, and Harry simply nodded curtly and turned his back. Behind him, Alan made a disgusted comment and received a warm laugh from Andrew. Harry smiled faintly. It really was nice to just talk to Alan every once in a while – even if Andrew made him uncomfortable. It wasn't like the vampire was going to be there often.

He wandered the far row of tents without looking really hard. He knew his parents were just on the row over, but it was interesting looking the other people over. He'd always been interested in wizard culture and how different they all were from each other. It was strange to see a representation of the world packed into one confined space. Just how big was the stadium going to be? How big was their world?

"Hey, are you lost?" A woman called.

Harry glanced up at her and found himself under another American flag. This one was accompanied by a banner reading, '_Salem Witches Institute'_. There were three women at the flag itself where he was, dressed in robes and smiling. The black-haired woman who'd spoken walked up to him.

"You look familiar," She curtly noted, then asked again, "Are you lost?"

"Just wandering. My family is camped somewhere near a group like yours, and a man named Thomas."

"Thomas, eh?" The woman smiled. "Georgette," She called over her shoulder, "where's Thomas?"

"He ran off with some British Auror named Potter and dragged his brothers with him. Why do you ask?"

"This kid is camped near us, then." She smiled back at him. "You're probably on the other side of the row. You can cut through here if you like, just don't trip on any of the kids."

"Thank you," Harry smiled. "You are?"

She grinned wryly. "Philana Adamidis."

Harry blinked. This was Alan's aunt.

She studied his face and asked, "You heard of me?"

"No, it's just an odd name."

Her eyebrows went up and her mouth pursed. Harry cringed. "Boy, you're a good liar but I raised four of them. You'll have to do better than that if you want to get away with it. Shoo, I won't ask," She paused, then, "You wouldn't happen to be named Harry would you?"

Harry quickly turned and continued down the row, leaving the Salem witches behind. Alan hadn't warned him his aunt was practically a mind reader! He didn't get far before he ran into someone, bounced back, and swore.

"Sorry!" He blurted. "I wasn't looking." He stood up, looked, and swallowed.

"I gathered that, Potter," Snape sneered. "Perhaps you should exercise a touch more caution when blundering around in public?"

Harry turned red and darted around his side, looking for the next shunt up a row so he could come around on the other side of his family. Several vendors were going around, hawking their wares with more and more displays of magic popping up as time went by. They weren't blatant yet, but Harry could guess that before the night was out the Ministry would have to stop punishing and bow to the inevitable.

He found the Weasley's tent before he came across a way up. Stopping there, he waved. "Hey, can I sit down here?"

"Harry!" Ron jumped. "What brings you over here?"

"Boredom. My dad's talking Auror work with an American from next to us. I thought I'd find something more entertaining and ended up wandering your way."

"Harry! There you are!"

Looking up at Neville, Harry grinned. "You came over here already?"

"Same reason you did." Neville sat down, Hermione already beside him. "It got boring over there, and you can only read so long with this much going on."

"Hah, I told you so!"

Ron and Hermione joined the argument in short order, and Mr Weasley didn't bother to try and stifle the good-natured ribbing. Within the hour, salesmen were popping in and out by apparation, and Ron and the other Weasley boys stepped up to buy. Harry searched his pockets and found that he did have his allowance on him. He bought Ron a set of omnioculars alongside a pair himself, as Neville did the same for Hermione. The hats, flags, and figurines didn't interest him, but Ron got several and Hermione picked up the programmes. Ron tried to protest and was ignored. He forgot his objections when the gong sounded, and Harry jerked in place.

"Crap! I don't have my ticket!"

"It'll be fine, Harry." Arthur assured him. "They should come down this way. Do you remember where you're sitting?"

"Somewhere below the top box…"

"Come, we'll wait for them along here."

Harry was dancing on his feet, already seriously worried. What if they went up another staircase? What if he made the Weasleys late? He didn't want to be a burden…

Someone waved frantically, shouting into the hubbub of noise. Arthur tried, but it was Bill who was tall enough to wave back, his red hair as good as any beacon. It took a few minutes for them to fight their way through the crowd, but soon enough James had come abreast of them and thanked Arthur.

"We thought he might have ended up with you. Thomas' wife came over to tell us our son had wandered past a while ago. I knew Neville was here, so goodness knows he could talk himself to death."

Harry hugged his dad quickly, and backed off, his tension feeling foolish now.

They moved into the forest, walking down the lantern-lit trail to come out at the base of the immense gold stadium, an awe-inspiring sight.

The Ministry witch checking their tickets was impressed at the Weasley's, directing them all the way up. Reading his parents and the Longbottom's, she was no less impressed, directing them to the level just below. Harry and Neville raced towards the top, tripping and stumbling, halting as the wizards ahead slowed and grumbled or flat out refused to move out of the way. They were laughing uproariously at the last leg of the staircase, and Harry clapped him on the shoulder as Neville went up into the top box with a wry smile.

The rows ahead were spaced evenly and went down – nearly fifty rows. He and his parents were ten from the bottom, the Longbottoms at their back. Directly in front of them were a number of empty seats, but they didn't remain so long.

The loud talking was the first clue. Harry turned in his seat, splitting from the discussion between his father and godfather to look and confirm his thoughts. It was indeed the tall, reddish-brunet man he remembered and his brother – or, perhaps, Harry thought, _brothers,_ as there were at least two others who looked similar to him as well. In amongst their group, a number of children bickered and quarrelled in good humour.

"Sabre, River, for Merlin's sake, get your siblings in line." Thomas interrupted himself. "Are they all here? Kinsey, don't touch that it's _not_ yours; where's Kyla? Ray, dammit all, help!"

"C'mon," Thomas' twin groaned, "we're up there – go grab a seat already, you goofs."

A cluster of the children broke off and claimed seats in the middle of the empty space. Several of the adults in the group sighed with relief as the argument took on a solid location – and someone got their hair pulled and started screaming. It was with a cautious look at the women clustering around the children that Thomas slunk back and claimed a seat in the row directly in front of Harry and his family. James immediately leaned forward, already laughing softly.

"That bad is it?"

"Nine kids," He repeated. "Twenty-six children present in total, twelve of which are between four and ten – and seven of those are mine. Thank God my twin didn't bring his kids along – unfortunately Fenris and his wife weren't so smart."

James halted. "What was that name?"

Thomas turned to face him. "Fenris. Why do you ask?"

"His last name?"

He got a raised eyebrow. "The same as mine: Alfaerus."

Harry's father deflated. "My apologies. There's a situation here with a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback."

"You British bigots," He sneered.

"It's not because he's a werewolf!" James barked. "It's because he uses that to inflict fear in others."

He was still receiving a glare until his twin smacked his shoulder. "Lay off, Thomas. I know they're not bigots."

"Oh?"

He jerked his thumb at Remus. "That's why, you quodhead."

Remus stiffened, paused, and frowned. "You are…?"

"Luck of the draw," Ray shrugged. "Same as Lyall over there. We're from Salem; we're the dumpster of the states, and when things go wrong, they -really- go wrong."

"I hadn't really believed it…" Remus shifted forward more permanently, scanning the group.

Harry noticed where he was staring and snorted: Remus had picked out Green's unusual hair. Harry settled back in his seat, watching as his father and Thomas warmed up to each other again, talking excitedly about the game as his mother took Nanna and Alice to join the women and kids at the centre of Salem's group.

Immediately in front of him, Harry jumped as two boys identical in face and appearance turned around in their seats and smiled brightly at him.

"Hi," One said.

"Hi," The other repeated.

"I'm Eli, he's Luce." The first – wearing a blue striped shirt – indicated himself, then his brother in a black shirt. "You are?"

"Harry."

"So, how about this game?"

It wasn't long before they were all talking, waiting for the game to start. When the announcer's amplified voice echoed across the stadium, the two boys were hauled back down to their seats, waiting on the next words. The audience roared and cheered. The board across the stadium cleared and displayed the currently empty score.

"And now," he continued, "without further ado, allow me to introduce the Bulgarian team mascots!"

The right hand side of the stands, a solid block of scarlet, roared with approval. Harry sat forward eagerly, then jerked back, both nervous and excited. "Dad, it's _veela!"_

His mother reached over and tapped both their heads. James looked mildly offended, but Harry didn't mind. He was eager to watch. He did notice she didn't bother intercepting his godfather, either.

Their unnatural beauty fascinated him. He had to wonder if the female form was really that alluring. He'd read about the creatures – if you could call them that – but books and reality were vastly different. Their skin really shone moon-bright, and their hair fanned out behind them in contrast to whatever natural breeze existed. A giddy feeling swelled in his chest he wasn't sure if he should fight or not – but as there was nowhere to go, the thought ended stillborn.

He wasn't sure if there was music or not, as he was abruptly and completely deaf when they started dancing. The giddy feeling tried to sweep over him again, but when his father put a hand on his thigh, he came back to himself and shook his head. His father pointed immediately to Sirius and then the Salem group.

His godfather, for one, was getting up on the seats, bracing his feet on the seatbacks and stripping out of his robe. The Salem group was a mixed bunch. Parents, mostly mothers, were holding onto their children, the youngest of whom were completely unaffected. Thomas was twiddling his wand and rolling his eyes anywhere but at the stadium: a wife of one of the men smacked her husband about the head. Thomas was completely ignoring the fact that his twin was apparently singing along with enthusiasm – and, judging by the looks he was getting from the young kids in front, not much skill.

The twins he'd spoken to before were plugging their ears and sneaking glances at Remus with covert interest, watching him for the cue to disengage.

A few of the other men were spattered with reactions – Louis was unaffected, Green was forcibly restrained as was another nearby blond, and two girls were apparently _competing_ with a young man at the front to outdo each other. Harry snuck a look behind himself – the crowd was mostly a mix of the reactions, those restrained, unaffected, and many less-than-happy women. After establishing no one in the immediate area was threatening his seat, Harry sat back, mildly disappointed. As entertaining as this was, he'd come here for Quidditch.

The attitude changed, people relaxing, and suddenly Harry could hear a chorus of snickers as Thomas tugged his brother back into his seat, ignoring the man's beet red face.

"And now," The announcer continued, "kindly put your wands in the air … for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

A bright comet zoomed out into the stadium and did a lap, breaking into two smaller comets at completion – those became a rainbow, then a giant shamrock that soared over the stands dropping a golden rain. As it went over them, it became clear: they were dropping golden galleons.

"Hey, dad-"

"Leprechaun gold." One of the unintroduced men answered. "Enjoy it – it's not real. Here, catch!" He threw a small handful of the coins, leading to a friendly little fight. Harry threw some to Nanna, but their mother put a stop to it before she could retaliate.

The leprechauns dissolved the shamrock and settled opposite the veela to watch the match. Harry straightened, raising his omnioculars. _This_ was what he was waiting for. This was _flying._

* * *

A/N: Ugh. Busy week. Late. Oh well.  
And thus does Fourth Year begin. Yay.

_*Hides under blankets*_

Fire & Napalm_  
_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen:**

Harry was exhausted when he got to sleep. He felt like he'd barely laid his head down before someone was yelling at him to get up and moving. He grumbled, but reacted to the hard note in the voice addressing him.

"Get up, quickly," Alice shouted, "Neville get your brother up! Come on, you have to get out, we don't have time!"

Alice didn't panic easily. Harry was grabbing his coat before he really listened past her voice: the singing and carousing was gone. Someone or many someones were screaming outside, and there was the sound of many people moving quickly around them. Harry spared a look for Neville and Connor before slipping outside their tent: Connor was clutching his brother's waist tightly, but only until he saw his mother and Lily. He immediately seized the nearest of the two, but Harry's eyes were elsewhere.

There was a mob moving up towards their tent. He could hear the panicked voices behind him, but his eyes were locked on the mass of people in front of him, packed and moving as one. Overhead where three figures; a fourth, smaller figure, was raised up, spinning in the air as the people below laughed. All of the wizards had their hoods up; their faces covered. They weren't far away at all.

"_Mellisande_, _it's Cenhelm_! _He's gone_!"

Harry turned, startled. The Salem tents, three spaces over were a disaster. People were everywhere: one tore open a tent, light spilling out as someone screamed. The children were clustered; no, they were running. He couldn't pick anyone out, but two more adults turned their backs on the group and moved towards the riot, wands out and faces fixed in fury. Harry took two steps back and tripped.

Someone caught his arm. "Careful, son. Take your sister; follow your mother, and go! Get into the woods!"

"Dad, what are you-" Of course; he was going to try and stop the riot. "Be careful!"

"I will; _Go_!"

Harry caught his sister's arm and locked his eyes on his mother's long hair. As he moved up behind her, she began to lead them behind their tent, towards the woods. Neville was not far to his right, Melanie tucked against him as Harry held Nanna.

"Mother…" Connor cried, "Mum!"

Lily tried to keep a hold of the youngest, but he was struggling. Alice had gone with her husband to quell the riot, and Connor didn't understand. Harry caught Neville's eye and nodded; they'd have to catch him if he broke. If he went into the riot, he'd be crushed underfoot.

He pulled hard enough Lily had to stop and change her grip. She grabbed his shoulders, crouched in the flat ground as people struggled past on either side, struggling to get out of the open air. Someone had set fire to a tent near theirs.

"Connor, listen! Your mother will be fine; Alice will be fine. You have to come with me!"

"I want my mother!"

"Connor, please –"

"Ferdy, no!" A woman screamed, "Please, get back, come back here!"

Harry turned as Nanna pulled out of his hand. She darted across the space and caught the arm of a dark-haired boy running past. Seizing him around the shoulders, she yelled, "I got him, he's here!"

A haggard woman, her hair scattered about her face slowed, her arms already full of a young girl, a backpack with two infants tucked in strapped on her back.

"Thank God, oh thank God. Nanna, wasn't it? Thank you. Ferdy, please! You have to _listen_ to me, Ferdy!"

Melanie bolted past him and held up her arms. Harry was torn as he saw his mother also go over; he wanted to be _gone_. As far as he could tell, Salem was still insane. He hadn't seen half the kids being gathered into arms over there. It was overwhelmingly chaotic.

"Mellisande!" A familiar voice made him turn; it was Alan. "Mellisande, it's Georgette, the quintuplets are together. We need to-"

It was a flash, the sound of shattering glass, and Alan was thrown off his feet. Harry dropped and caught his shoulder as Alan rolled across the ground, his arms around his head. Behind him, another figure was slumped on the ground, their chest steaming. Harry felt his chest catch, but Alan sat up, shook himself and scrambled back over.

"Andrew, Andrew!"

Harry didn't think; he was at Alan's side, helping him turn his friend over. The skin on Andrew's face was burned, his shirt torn open and blood staining the shreds. Pale eyes slipped open, glowing slightly in the darkness.

"Andrew, you idiot!" Alan cursed.

"You were… too close."

"Can you stand?"

Andrew tried, and Harry caught his arm as Alan took the other. They got him on his feet, and someone yelled, "Move, move, _move_!"

People were running, now, moving without thought. Harry didn't even have to look at Alan. They picked up their pace, Andrew keeping up admirably even as he kept his head down, his eyes closed. Neville was suddenly at his side; Harry was focused more on moving forward than what was around him. They had to get out of there, get away. He'd lost track of his mother and sister completely.

[Details?] They reached the woods without further trouble. Plunging straight in, they slowed and wandered aimlessly, seeking cover and distance. They could find their families later, once everything had calmed down. Harry didn't know how far they'd gone, or where they were. It seemed a long time before they reached a small clearing – and found Ron and Hermione standing nervously at the base of a tree.

"Who – Harry?" Ron called.

"It's me, Ron." Harry smiled faintly, looking around. "Good spot to stop?"

Ron nodded curtly, eyeing his companions with distaste until he saw Andrew's face. "Y-yeah. What's … what's going on?"

Harry turned to give Alan a hard look, one he didn't mean. "He took a blast for me. I felt I owed him. The riot was running over everything."

Harry flushed. Neville knew that was a lie, but he couldn't take it back. He wasn't going to leave Alan and his friend behind like that. They had been as much at risk as anyone.

"Where's everyone else?" Harry asked.

"Fred and George are somewhere with Ginny – we got split up." Ron's face twisted. "We ran past Malfoy; horrid git threatened Hermione."

Harry nodded, staring into the forest. He and Alan lowered Andrew to the tree Ron was at, Harry flinching from looking at his face as Alan also crouched, ghosting his fingers over the wounds.

"You know…" Harry began

His question died as someone staggered loudly in the woods. Harry spun, his wand trained on the sound. Alan leaned over Andrew, holding his friend down with a hand on his shoulder. Hermione shrank behind Ron.

"Who's there?" Harry called. Silence reigned; whoever it was had stopped moving. Andrew started to growl.

"_Someone's_ there," The boy assured him. Harry believed him.

A deep voice spoke, solid and calm in the middle of the riot,

"_Morsmorde_."

Bright green light shot into the air, spreading as it lanced across the sky. The clearing was bathed in green light, and then his eyes picked out the image of a vast, sparkling skull, a serpent writhing out of its mouth.

Harry recognized it. His stomach was tight in his gut, and he turned back to the darkness with new intent,

"_Stupefy_;_ impedimenta_!"

Neville echoed him; Alan's spell shot past his shoulder and lit up the darkness within the trees. People around them were screaming with more terror than had filled the rows of tents before.

Sharp pops of apparation surrounded the clearing, and while Harry saw a face clearly, recognizing a Ministry worker, twenty wands were aimed their way. He didn't waste time; grabbing Hermione behind Neville, Harry dropped to the ground, followed by Ron and Neville. Alan and Andrew were already down.

"_Stupefy_!"The wizards roared. Red light soared into the tree overhead, bypassed it and continued on, or splashed across the shield Alan held over Andrew's body.

"Stop! _Stop it_, _goddamn you_, _that's my bloody son_!"

Harry had never been happier to hear his godmother's invective. He lifted his head and smiled as the wizard before him quickly lowered his wand. Alice raced up to them, pulling Neville off the ground into her arms before staring between him and Harry.

"Where's Lily? Where are your brother and sister?"

"We got separated," Harry explained in Neville's stead. "Mum, Nanna, Melanie and Connor are with the Salem group; they needed help with their kids, and then the ground got blown up. I stopped to help Prince, and then we just had to run."

"What happened?"

Harry saw Remus behind Alice's shoulder; Arthur was saying something to Ron behind him. "The man who conjured the Mark was in the woods there." He pointed.

Alice immediately released Neville and gripped her wand. She waved several others over and disappeared into the trees, even as the circle tightened around them in her wake. Harry recognized a few men, but not many. The one he worried about, however, was Mr Crouch. The man stopped a few feet back, shaking with rage.

"Which of you did it? I don't believe your lie for a second. Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"What brought you to that bollocks-ed up conclusion?" Neville snapped.

"Do not lie to me! You were discovered at the scene of the crime! That 'man in the woods' does not exist!"

"Mr Crouch!" Someone hissed. "They're _children_. How would know that spell?"

One man straightened his glasses. "They're _intelligent_ children, with parents from the last war. They could be… acting out."

Harry glared at him. Hermione tentatively spoke up,

"Sir, we didn't do it. He really was there, in the woods. He spoke an incantation."

"Over there?" Mr Crouch glared wildly. "Spoke an incantation?" You seem remarkably well-informed, young miss, about how the Dark Mark works."

"With all due respect, Mr Crouch," Neville snapped, "I think that basis would cover most spells we know from tickling charms to Unforgivables, especially considering we're all of _fourteen_."

"And do you know how many adult wizards need no incantation aloud?"

The argument halted as a shout went up from the woods. Alice and the searching group returned, a brown-haired man Harry recognized as Mr Diggory holding a small form in his arms. It took Harry a moment to realize it was a house elf. Neville made a noise of recognition.

Mr Crouch stared in disgust. "Impossible." He stalked past the aurors and stomped into the woods himself. Alice watched him go and tilted her head. Remus nodded faintly, and then slipped silently behind into the woods behind him. Alan made a small noise; he must have noticed Remus' discrete exit as well.

Mr Diggory shrugged awkwardly. "Bit embarrassing," He offered, "Barty Crouch's house elf going off like that. It's just a bit of a sting."

Hermione snorted.

"Come off it, Amos," Arthur returned. "You don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark is a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah, and she _had_ a wand."

"_What_?"

Most of the group was listening intently, but Alice maintained half-an-eye on the woods. She nodded slightly as she noticed him watching, but didn't relax her vigilance.

"Had it in her hand," Amos continued. "That's clause three of the code of wand use broken for a start: _No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand_."

Neville caught Hermione's arm tightly.

A sharp pop heralded another arrival: Mr Bagman stumbled, breathless and disoriented before he noticed their group, then the lighting and looked up at the sky.

"The Dark Mark!" He gasped. "Who did this? Did you get them? Barty, what's going on?"

Mr Crouch had returned empty handed – Remus was still gone.

"Where have you been?" Bagman demanded. "Why weren't you at the match; your elf was saving you a seat – Gulping gargoyles!" He finally noticed the elf. "What happened?"

"I've been busy, Ludo, and my elf has been stunned," Barty dryly answered.

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But what…?" He looked between the sky and the ground, finally coming to the same conclusion. "No! Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand to start!"

"And she had one," Amos assured him. "I found her holding it, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she has to say for herself."

Crouch said nothing, and Amos took that for assent, casting Ennervate upon the little elf. Alice was still staring after Remus, but she sighed before turning back to the proceedings with a dark expression.

Winky woke slowly, in a bemused sort of fashion. Upon finding herself surrounded she fixed upon Mr Diggory's shoes before her gaze went up to his face and, beyond that, to the great green skull lighting the night sky. Harry wondered why no one had dismissed the spell yet, then he was brought back around by Winky's great, terrified sobs.

"Elf!" Mr Diggory snapped. "Do you know who I am? I am a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky began to rock back and forth, watching Mr Diggory in a terrified sort of daze.

"As you see here, someone has brought forth the Dark Mark! You were discovered moments later right beneath it. An explanation, please."

"I – I – I is not doing it, Sir! I is not knowing how!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" Barked Mr Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. The wand was illuminated in the green light, and Hermione gasped.

"That's mine!"

Harry jerked in surprise and glared. She could have picked a better time to notice that!

"Excuse me?" Mr Diggory gaped. "Why is it not in your possession, miss?"

"I lost it, sir. I don't know when." She flushed in the darkness. "It was sometime between the match and now, and I was horrified – I didn't know when it had gone missing. How did it get here?"

Mr Diggory frowned. "Perhaps you tossed it aside after conjuring the mark yourself?"

Harry made a rude noise, but Alice's comment was ruder. Amos Diggory went scarlet in the face, and Neville cut in, "Yeah, let's accuse the _muggleborn_ of casting a Death Eater's symbol. Where the _Hell_ would she have learned it?" Half the officials were horrified; the other half knew Neville was Alice Longbottom's son. Mr Diggory's eyes popped for a moment before he jerked his jaw shut and swallowed.

"Er, alright." He turned back to address Winky, his face hard once more. "You found this wand, elf? Picked it up and thought you'd have a little fun with it?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" Winky sobbed. "I is – I is – I is just picking it up. I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" Hermione argued. "Winky has a tiny little voice."

Neville nodded in agreement. "Unless she knows some voice-changing spell, it can't have been Winky. The person casting was male, definitely male. I doubt Mr Crouch would teach his elves any spells, much less the Dark Mark."

Mr Diggory looked flabbergasted for a moment, then cleared his throat and stood. "Well, we'll know soon enough. There's a simple spell for this." He placed his wand tip against Hermione's and spoke, "_Prior Incantato_."

A foggy, serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the wands met, a mere shadow of the light above.

"_Deletrius_." Mr Diggory finished. The smoky shadow blew apart. Mr Diggory looked down at Winky with a savage look of triumph. The expression made Harry feel sick. Why was he so insistent that it was Winky? He hadn't even taken their comments seriously enough to check the previous spells. "You've been caught red-handed, elf! The guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos, really," Alice scoffed. "How many wizards know how to do that spell? And just how many aren't Death Eaters?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?" Mr Crouch sneered.

A deep silence reigned, save for someone's small, irreverent snicker behind him.

"No, not in the least, sir…" Mr Diggory murmured.

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing least likely to conjure that Mark! A muggleborn, and myself! Next I suppose you'll accuse young Mr Potter, or maybe Weasley's son?"

Mr Diggory opened and closed his mouth a few times before Mr Crouch continued,

"And I suppose you don't remember the many proofs I've give of my opinion of those Arts and they who practice them?" His eyes were bulging unpleasantly with his vehemence.

Mr Diggory was white beneath his beard. "Of course, sir, I never meant to imply…"

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me! Where else could she have learned it?"

"Your son," Alice cut in, deceptively lazily.

Mr Crouch turned to her with a deadly look in his eyes. "My son is dead."

Harry swallowed, watching Alice's eyes. He had heard about that trial a few times – not many, and never from Frank or Alice. Mr Crouch had presided over the trial of the Lestranges and his own son for the use of the Cruciatus on the Longbottoms. The Death Eaters had been fanatically loyal, and trying to find out if the Longbottoms, as Aurors, knew anything more than the Death Eaters did about what had happened to their Dark Lord. Apparently Crouch's vehemence had disgusted many people – the trial had been the end of Mr Crouch's forward motion, which culminated within the year with his son's death in Azkaban, and his wife's shortly thereafter.

Mr Weasley coughed lightly. "If Winky did not do the spell-casting, then she must have found the wand after the caster tossed it aside. Winky, did you see the man who had used this wand before you found it?"

Winky trembled violently, looking from Mr Weasley, to Bagman and then Crouch. "I is seeing no one, sir. No one."

Mr Crouch straightened. "Amos," He was remarkably calm once more, still painfully precise. "I know that in the ordinary course of events you would take her into your department to question her. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Mr Diggory plainly didn't like the suggestion, but was unwilling to defy him. Alice, however, wasn't so hung up on his status.

"Mr Crouch, there are rules to be followed. Winky may have seen something she doesn't think important, and should be questioned properly."

Mr Crouch fixed her with a stare. "I fail to see what she might have seen. There is no one here who could possibly be the culprit." He turned and looked around. He stopped when his eyes passed Harry. Harry looked over his shoulder and found Alan distracted, helping Andrew to sit up, his wand out as he studied the burns on his face.

"You two," Crouch barked, "Your names?"

Alan blinked and looked up. "Sir?"

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Escaping the riot," Alan explained slowly. "We were here for the Quidditch match." He left unspoken, 'you idiot', but it came across clearly.

Mr Crouch wrinkled his nose. "American, I take it? But your father wouldn't happen to be British, would he?"

Harry went cold. Alan's growth had left his face stark, and anyone who saw him near Snape this year would make the connection immediately.

Alan, however, was unimpressed. "That's irrelevant, isn't it?"

"When you are plainly related to a suspected Death Eater, however reformed he might be, I believe there is a correlation in sight, is there not?" Crouch glowered at Andrew, still hunched over on the ground. "What are your, and your companion's names?"

"Alan Prince, and Andrew Arie Mayfair," Alan said. "We're with Salem."

"There is protocol to be followed, and perhaps you should be brought in for _proper questioning_."

"Bull-_shit_," A man snarled.

The Ministry officials turned to see the arrivals: a blond man was storming up to Crouch with Hell in his eyes, a few others trailing behind.

"Sir, this is not –"

"When you're accusing _my son_ I have every right to object!"

Harry blinked: that man didn't look nearly old enough to have a son anywhere near their age. Crouch also objected.

"I fail to see a child of yours here."

"Andrew Mayfair is _my son_," He snapped. "You don't know me? Velorian Mayfair, of Salem Sorcerer's School." He snarled as Crouch snorted. "You don't think much of it, yeah, I get that, neither does it matter to me. You're not hauling my son anywhere on a trumped-up charge of tomfoolery."

"I do not think the Dark Mark is 'tomfoolery' of any kind."

"It's tomfoolery where I hail from, your tush-wiping bundimun! You think I taught my kid that?"

Crouch straightened and frowned. "You think I am unfamiliar with your society, but you are mistaken, _Mayfair_. I know your family, and your long-standing ties to the Malfoy family, who was under more than a little suspicion in the last war."

Velorian's face darkened faster than Crouch's had. One of the women who had followed stepped up and immediately put her hand firmly over his mouth to pin his head to her shoulder as she smiled sweetly at Crouch.

"Please excuse my husband, he's overwrought." She waved her fingers over his mouth slightly. "He's so overprotective – I told him I was two months pregnant earlier this evening and he's been completely out of control. I hardly know what to do with him."

"Ma'am, this is not your place…" Crouch began. "If the boy is your son-" He looked doubtful. The woman looked younger than her husband.

"No, goodness no," She waved it off. "That was an accident several years ago, really – Andrew isn't my son, but Velorian… What can I say? Family means much to him. If you _really_ need to follow through, just let us know. I'm sure we can cooperate."

"Alan," The dark-haired woman Harry had run into earlier crouched down next to the tree, ignoring Crouch's argument and reaching out to touch Alan's face, "is everything alright? How's Andrew?"

"Burned, but it's healing." Alan sighed. "I'm fine, really Philana."

"I'll believe that when the healers get a hold of you," She scolded. "Everything's cleaned up now, so we're heading out as soon as Demeter and Dominic get through with the officials on their end."

Harry perked up at that. It it was over, his father should be safe now, and he'd be able to head home as soon as they were all together again.

There was a sharp crack of apparation behind them, and Crouch spun so fast he nearly fell over. "Who's there?" He demanded.

Shortly thereafter Remus wandered out of the woods finally, smiling pleasantly. Crouch looked like he was choking on something. Coming abreast of Alice, Remus nodded curtly.

"Mr Crouch, " Remus said, "I believe Scrimgeour might have a few words with you once you can spare the time to return to the Ministry."

"What was that?"

Remus smiled blankly. "I'm not at liberty to say, sir."

Crouch opened his mouth, but closed it as Alice stepped forward, tucking her shoulder in front of Remus' body. She smiled, looking very unfriendly. "Well, I think this is settled, Crouch. Diggory, I'll see you about Winky's statement later. Now, I have terrified children to locate and since the riot is under control, I need to take care of my family. Good evening, Mr Crouch." She turned aside and beckoned them forward. Harry stood up, secure knowing Alan was wrapped in his aunt's arms and Andrew had his plainly vicious father to keep him safe as well.

Alice escorted them in silence all the way to the campground, which was completely destroyed. Many tents had burned, including one of theirs: Harry felt a pinch, but there had been nothing irreplaceable in his bag. He was more relieved to find his mother sitting with the women at the Salem tents, keeping their children together and calm in spite of the destruction. His mother threw herself at him, sobbing with relief. Alice was questioned extensively, but it was Harry who caught the question from the Salem women about Alan and reassured them about the two boys.

With the distressed Alfaerus' reassurance, Harry's mother took her children and Alice's to the Ministry officials, standing in line to get their short, curt words in and acquire a portkey to Godric's Hollow – an easier location for a quick, nonspecific Portkey.

Harry wasn't bothered in the least by sharing a bed with Neville for one night. He lay down and was nearly immediately asleep, his sister and Melanie across the hall, and Connor still clinging drowsily to Alice as she and his mother warded the home overnight.

IIII

"That woman." Lily threw the paper onto the table and returned to bringing out the breakfast dishes later that week.

Harry pulled the paper in front of himself and smiled crookedly. Someone had gotten a picture of the blond man who'd argued so heatedly with Crouch. He was coming out of the forest with something long and black in his hands, talking calmly with the man next to him that Harry was almost sure was Thomas Alfaerus – it couldn't be his twin, as the man in the picture had short hair. The title was, _Violent Americans invade British Affairs_. The author was Rita Skeeter.

Harry skimmed over the article. She hadn't gotten any quotes, just a few interesting pictures of the Americans with their 'weapons' – Skeeter called them guns, but Harry wasn't sure and he wasn't sure he trusted what she called them either. Then again, he probably wouldn't trust Skeeter telling him that water was wet.

"Harry, stop reading that drivel. At least she isn't still harping on Crouch. For _god's_ sake, he broke the law hiding his son, but that doesn't mean we need all the grisly – and probably faked - details…" Lily stalked back into the kitchen again. Harry put down the paper and served himself breakfast.

The week since the Cup had been busy. Harry hadn't seen his father or godfather for more than five minutes at a time. Sirius rarely came by, and his father fell asleep almost immediately, usually without eating. There were trials going on, big ones for some very prominent members of the community who had been taken down by Aurors of many different countries – which had led to an even bigger international headache when Crouch came under fire as well.

Remus had done very well at what Alice had asked. He'd found what Crouch was trying to hide in the woods and called in the Marauders. They brought the suspect in, and found out something they really didn't want to know: It was Barty Crouch Jr.

Frank had been physically removed from the room.

Now, however, the Ministry upheaval was finally calming. It was nearly the end of August, and school was rolling closer with no end to the trials in sight: the entirety of the first was already booked up. His father wouldn't be seeing him off to school this year, but he, Alice and Frank would have the night before off to join them for dinner. Alice only got leeway as a mother.

Almost immediately after breakfast, Lily went upstairs to take time to herself. Nanna was rereading her textbooks and some of Harry's second year books as well, excluding Lockhart's. Harry himself sat down in the living room to work on his homework. He almost missed the lessons he'd had with Moody: at least then he got to see Neville and do something. However, his best friend was tied up at his grandmother's house in the absence of his parents.

The Floo suddenly flared up. Harry sat up and grabbed his wand, surprised but not worried: The living room Floo was only for those keyed into the wards. The list of people was very short, and Harry had a guess as to who it would be.

Neville nearly fell over as he stepped out of the Floo. He had his bookbag on his shoulder, and another, softer bag tucked under his arm.

Honestly, Harry was surprised it had taken him this long.

"Relax," Harry reassured him as Neville stared around the room. "My mother's probably napping upstairs, and Nanna's looking over my books in her room."

Neville heaved a sigh of relief and dropped the two bags. "Thanks, Harry. If my grandmother would just leave me alone… I was half-ready to try to apparate when she got a call to the receiving room and started chatting with her friends."

Madame Longbottom had been ecstatic to have a grandson. However, she spent every moment in Neville's presence telling him he either _was_ like his 'wonderful' father (at least before Frank fell in with the ruffians like Sirius and Remus) or that he _needed_ to be. It got old very quickly. Even Frank hated it.

Harry smiled. "C'mon, she can't complain about you being at your godmother's house. What do you want to do in the meantime? Did you bring all your books?"

Neville gave him a sharp look, then rolled his eyes and tossed the soft duffel at the end of the sofa to begin fishing through his bookbag. He pulled out six books before he threw the last at Harry. "Careful with that one. It bites if you flip through it too softly."

"Too softly?" Harry questioned, looking up in the middle of turning a page. "I know Madam Pince hexed a few to bite if you were too rough, but –_ow!"_ Harry shook his hand and stared at the small bite mark on his finger.

"To sound trite," Neville grinned, "it can sense fear."

"Or just idleness." Harry frowned, flipping through with a studied briskness. "What's in here? Is that … oh, this would've been fun last year. It's got a castration hex."

Neville looked over and read the description. "I don't think that one clots without help."

"So? It would've been for Peter."

"I think they'd notice the dark magic, Harry."

Harry snorted, but continued to turn the pages.

Neville sighed and skipped through his books until he found his Enchantments text. He set to work on the homework, while Harry continued his study of the book from Grimmauld Place.

After nearly an hour, Neville closed his text and sighed at Harry. "You haven't finished your Potion's homework Harry. You were complaining about it last week."

Harry reluctantly closed the book. "Yeah, I know."

"You could always take that book to school."

"And get caught with it?"

Neville shrugged. "Who's going to search your trunk? They don't do dorm searches, and it's not like Sirius has ever used his family's library. I had to break the lock on the door to get in there: it had rusted shut. The damn house elf nearly caught me; he would have if I hadn't had your cloak."

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable but eager. He liked finding out more. He didn't even really want to learn most of those spells. He just wanted to know about them, because it helped him push aside the apparent expectation that he be a 'hero' or something. Heroes didn't know 'dark magic'.

Stifling a laugh, Harry pushed the book under his Standard Book of Spells and fished out the Potions text. "Alright, Neville, what's with the beetle eyes anyways? I though it worked better with the, ah, guts." He had to suppress the urge to wipe his glasses.

Homework occupied another hour or more as they stayed seated in the living room. Nobody came downstairs. It was only when the Floo flared up that the monotony changed. Neville stiffened, but didn't get a chance to move before his mother's head appeared in the fireplace and called,

"Lily?" Her eyes focused quickly on her son. "There you are." She frowned. "Augusta actually called me at work to say you were missing. She refused to believe you'd come here… I thought so. Harry, go fetch your mother. She needs to come in; we have things to discuss."

Harry glanced between Alice and his friend, concerned. She narrowed her eyes and barked, "Now!"

He didn't linger, running up the stairs. Knocking loudly on her door, Harry yelled, "Mum, Alice wants you down at the Floo!"

There was an incoherent grumble followed by, "Tell her I'm coming! Just be a minute."

He took the stairs down at a half-run, stumbling through two flights of stairs and ending in the living room as Neville sullenly responded, "I told Melanie where I was going. It's not my fault she didn't tell grandmum."

Alice sighed. "Don't trust something that important to your sister again. You could have just asked." Neville's stubborn look gave away nothing. "Take Harry and collect your trunk, and tell your grandmother yourself where you are. I need to take care of things at work. Nanna may visit Melanie _at her grandmother's only_. Lily, come through immediately."

"Certainly, you owe me-" She cut off as Alice tugged her head through. Muttering something she probably wouldn't want Harry repeating in her presence, she threw the powder in and left without another word.

Harry waited a minute for Neville to say something, then offered, "Congrats on getting to stay. You want to go now?"

"Yeah, but you should tell your sister where we're going."

Harry grumbled, but went to the staircase and cupped his hands around his mouth. He didn't get far before Neville hexed him. Harry gave him a hurt look and received an exasperated one in return.

"Your house is too damn big for that, Harry. Either go see her, or get an elf to go. Actually, just go yourself. I'll clean up some of the books here." He raised his eyebrows and Harry felt a pinch. He wanted those books out of sight.

"Alright, I'll be back."

In the end, Nanna accompanied them to visit Melanie, and Neville went to get his trunk before trying to find his grandmother. She caught them at the Floo with Hell in her eyes.

"_Neville Tiernan Longbottom, where do you think you are going_?"

He tilted his trunk on its end and glared at her. "To the Potters. I'm staying there until school starts. I have mum's permission."

"That woman," She huffed. "Irresponsible. You are not going to that hooligan's house, not for the entire summer. You will waste your talents."

"That's not up to you to decide," Neville said. "You liked the Potters well enough before."

"James' parents were good people who indulged their son too much, just as he has indulged his." Her nose was in the air, and Harry stifled the urge to stick out his tongue at her. He'd have liked to take Neville's trunk, but his friend was several centimetres taller than he was, and it would be much easier for him to handle the large trunk in the Floo system.

Neville opened his mouth, then closed it. "Harry, go through and be ready to catch me. Grandmum, don't you try and stop me."

Harry stepped into the Floo as she gasped. "The nerve-"

Harry was gone before he could hear her finish. He waited impatiently on the far end, but finally Neville stumbled out and he caught the heavy trunk. It weighed less than he'd expected. Harry set it down with a frown.

"Did you put all your books in that bag you had?"

Neville coloured. "No," He paused, then continued, "I maxed out the bottomless capacity before I got them all in."

Harry sat back and laughed.

IIII

Neville stayed in the guest room next to Harry's, setting up shop with his trunk and all his clothes – half of which had been stuffed in his duffle. It was Saturday when he came over, and it was Wednesday when their fathers were both home for the evening meal. Sirius, with no direct tie, wasn't freed, and Alice took work that night to be free to take them to the Express in the morning. Augusta sent Melanie and Connor over to join them.

Despite coming home, conversation remained on the rampant changes in the Ministry.

"It's been a madhouse picking out who belongs where," James said. "The worst of it was losing Crouch: it left everyone beneath him at a loss for three days before Templar got acknowledged to his post."

"Kenner Templar?" Harry asked. He'd seen the man before, but never really met him.

"The same." His father grinned at him. "He's a damn sight nicer than Crouch. The only bad mark I can see is that he'd friends with Gregory Davis. He even has the good taste to dislike Malfoy."

Frank laughed. "That'll go over well in the Ministry. But he picked up Percy from Crouch, and he's giving him a run for his money keeping him updated on all Crouch's old files."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. Percy had been complaining about Templar just before the World Cup and now he was working for him.

"With what's planned, he needs someone efficient keeping track of those files." James nodded.

Harry and Neville immediately perked up. This had been whispered before; Ron had been hearing from his parents and passed the worry onto Neville, who had shared in turn. They were on tenterhooks: maybe, this close to term, their parents would finally tell them.

James noticed their attention and leaned on his elbow. Giving Frank a look he sighed and smiled. "I suppose you should know so Malfoy doesn't hold it over your heads at least. Harry, Neville… Melanie and Nanna, you too." With everyone's attention, he straightened and grinned. "We are finally reasonably sure in telling you that Hogwarts… will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year."

"No bloody way!" Neville yelled.

Harry stared at him and frowned. "You didn't anticipate this, did you?"

James grinned. "It's been floating around. But don't brag about this. You're not supposed to know until the feast." Harry and Neville mimed zipping their lips shut. "So, that's the hype at the Ministry and it'll probably be the hype of the school." He glanced away and shrugged. "Well, except for the international headache of trying to deal with the different countries that contributed in putting down the riot. You'd think the Americans were rabid or something…"

"Admittedly, James," Frank added, "it is _Salem_ they have to contact. I'm not sure I feel safe putting my head through the Floo to them, much less the risk of visiting."

James shrugged, poking at his food. "Better than dealing with Bagman. Oh, I didn't know Bertha was missing… Never mind that she's been gone for months now, and she was a nosey bitch who shouldn't be that absent-minded anyways. Then someone bitched about us kidnapping Crouch's house-elf, and now Crouch himself has dropped off the face of the earth…"

Harry pushed away from the table and asked to be excused. Neville followed him upstairs: neither of them was interested in the minutiae of the Ministry – it was only the big news that concerned them.

They went upstairs, and double-checked their stuff in each others company, talking quietly until Neville pulled out his dress robes. Harry stepped forward, curious.

"Yours look good."

Neville's robes were burgundy, with gold stitching and a stylized cat on the front lapel. His friend immediately blushed and folded them back up inside their wrapping. "They're not that great, especially next to yours."

Harry flushed in turn. His were at least twice as expensive as Neville's, the black and grey robes with the green stitching, so exclusive he'd gotten them custom refitted now that he'd grown into them. He stammered something about needing to check his own trunk and left for his room. Neville followed within a few minutes as he was touching the robes tucked into the bottom of his trunk. He hesitated at the shelf nearby.

"Take it." Neville grinned. "You know it fits your robes perfectly."

"Neville, I don't need jewellery." He dropped his hand over the box that held his serpent pendant and fingered the ribbed velvet, remembering the loops of the coil the serpent sat in.

"You're a longstanding pureblood heir. Nobody cares if you wear jewellery. Who's going to look at your pendant anyways with those bloody robes on?"

Harry turned and tucked the box in next to his robes, under his black school robes as he repacked the trunk again. The pendant meant more to him than anything else in the trunk. He felt a twinge, but pulled his hand out without taking anything out, rubbing the small bite on his shirt.

"Got everything?" Neville asked.

"Yeah."

"Is your hand okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a paper cut."

IIII

Harry had never been more grateful for his mother's Charms skills until he had to go to Kings Cross without the help of the Marauders proper or Alice – she had been caught by a trial dragging over from the night before, and had been threatened with an armed escort back to the Ministry if she tried to skip out. Lily shrunk the four trunks and they took the Knight Bus to just outside the station, where they had to dash inside. Under the shelter, they ran into the Weasleys with Hermione and one wet and irate Crookshanks.

The students split up on the train, picking compartments and getting Lily to resize their trunks once they were on. Nanna and Melanie joined Ginny further down the train, while Harry, Neville, Hermione and Ron took their own further up the line. They were hauled back out for a group farewell as Bill and Charlie grinned at their siblings with unholy interest.

It was Charlie who dropped why as he hugged Ginny goodbye. "I might be seeing you all sooner than you think."

Neville's mouth dropped open and his eyes popped. He mouthed one word, but Harry didn't need to see to know what it was. Charlie was watching with a wicked grin.

"Well, it looks like somebody's parents decided not to keep silent on the matter." His eyes were dancing. Molly looked torn, but Lily only smiled and shook her head.

"I don't think there's a point in telling you not to explain, but do try to keep it within your compartment."

The whistle summoned them back to their compartments on the train, and the waving was cut short when Fred and George hauled them both away from the window down to their seats. Harry dropped with a frown, but Neville was still staring at the dragons inside his eyelids. Harry gave the twins a superior look.

"Yes?" He asked imperiously.

The twins simply gave him expectant looks, and Ron was staring eagerly from his brothers to his friends. Harry rolled his eyes and turned to Neville.

"When did this last happen?"

Neville pulled out of his daydream to answer absently, "Last year, just before school got out, when they found out we got chased by an acromantula in the forest, then saved by a werewolf, a grim, and a bear. They wouldn't believe the stag that helped out."

"Neville…" Harry repeated.

Neville raised his hands in defeat. "I honestly don't know when the Tournament last happened. It certainly wasn't in the lifetime of anyone I know."

"Tournament?" Ron gasped.

"Yes." Harry grinned. "Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

He was peppered with questions once the shock wore off, but after a few rounds of 'I don't know' the twins at least gave up and went on their way. Ron was still beaming.

"I can't wait to see it! Can you imagine? Can you imagine getting in and _winning? _You'd be pampered! So much fame… and I think there's a monetary prize too! I mean, there's got to be, right?"

Neville nodded, but Harry was drifting, thinking about the recognition that would come. And the contests – they were supposed to be challenging to the extreme. _That_ would be something worth working for.

There was a loud crack beneath his chin and Harry jumped, swearing as he looked out quickly. Neville and Ron were snickering loudly, and Hermione was watching him with an exasperated look. Harry smiled sheepishly, and took the Exploding Snap deck from Neville to offer it to Hermione.

"I take it you'd rather play a game, now?"

The trolley came and went, and Harry was in the hall an hour away from Hogsmeade when he passed a compartment five away from his own. He paused as he overheard a soft argument inside, in which he recognized both voices.

"Draco, you're a stubborn ass aren't you?" The bitter voice was different, but the accent was unmistakable – Alan's voice was changing already. "My father's choice isn't going to change just because you're approaching me. I'm not about to make any choices for him, much less _that_ one. I didn't come in here to be talked at; I just wanted to tell you to back off the new students."

"It's Potter's little sister. She's no concern of yours, _Snape_."

Harry heard the crack in his voice this time. "The name is _Prince,_ _Malfoy,_ unless you desire to lose the only thing about you that matters to your _father_."

"Get out of my face, _Prince_," Malfoy's voice broke as well, rage sending it an octave lower. "I'll leave your precious _mudbloods_ be if you don't bloody well talk to me _ever again_."

Harry moved forward into his own compartment, not wanting to run into either Alan or Malfoy – especially after an argument like that. Opening and closing his compartment door, knowing he was preoccupied and not in the mood to hide it, Harry was glad nobody else had overheard that argument. Alan was going to have enough issues with his parentage this year without starting the rumours early.

"What kept you?" Neville asked. "You look distracted."

"I just overheard Prince talking to Malfoy." Harry rolled the truth in his mouth, deciding what to say. "I never knew those two hated each other that much." That was the truth. If it hadn't been said to Malfoy, Harry would never have believed Alan could be that vicious to anyone. "They were having it out about Malfoy bullying a new student."

Now he just wanted to check on his sister, but didn't know how to do so without drawing their suspicion. It was Nanna, and he was sure she'd taken care of herself – Alan would've defended her, right? He wasn't the type to just sit back and let someone be ripped apart without repercussions.

What would he do anyways if she were upset? Take more out of Malfoy's hide? He wasn't sure he had the heart to do it. From what he knew, Alan's comment about Malfoy's worth was a little too close to home for his comfort. Harry detested that part of pureblood nonsense.

The ride was over without much more fuss, and Harry gave the rain a bleak look before racing for the carriages. He nearly ran over Neville who was once again staring at the empty traces before darting inside and slapping his shoulder for tripping him. His friend only shook his head and attempted a drying charm, even knowing they were in for a wet run to the castle at the end.

The storm was cracking lightening over their heads, the thunder booming dully after. The wet was enough encouragement that Harry made it into the hall right behind Ron with his extra length of leg, holding Hermione's hand to keep her on her feet as well. Ron had halted in the entrance hall, his feet soaked by the resident poltergeist. Harry jumped away from the next balloon to keep his feet dry.

"_Peeves_!" McGonagall hollered as she strode into the room and immediately slipped. She nearly took Ron down with her as she grabbed the nearest student for balance, but the lanky young Weasley was able to set their venerable teacher back on her feet as she turned her full fury on the cackling poltergeist. "Stop this mess immediately!"

"Not doing nothing!" Peeves cackled. "They're already all wet, the little squirts!"

"I shall call the headmaster, Peeves! Stop this right now!"

Peeves stuck out his tongue and tossed his remaining balloons into the air. Harry saw one of the incoming students tug out their wand and the balloons vanished on their way to the ground. The procession of students continued into the Great Hall, finding their ways to the tables with hungry precision. Harry and his friends went to the farthest side from the door to sit against the wall at the Gryffindor table.

Harry picked out Alan with the ease of practice. He was not only tall, but his stark face was so close to his father's, anyone who kept an eye on Snape would jump seeing him – and his distinctly arched nose – in the crowd. If he didn't fill out his face soon, he'd look something like a starved eagle. His friends – aristocratic Blaise and Daphne…

"Hey, Harry, look at the staff table!"

Jolted from his study of the Slytherins, Harry tried to stave off a blush and looked. His blush died at its roots.

"_No_," Harry moaned. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was seated at the professor's table, staring down the empty plates. "No fucking way! I don't need him teaching me all _year_!"

Ron turned to him, bewildered, "What's wrong with him?"

"Ron," Harry whined, "I've had private lessons from him for the past _month_.His yelling has been waking me up in my _dreams_."

Ron looked torn and offended. Hermione frowned. "What's so bad about him?"

"He's paranoid," Neville offered, "To put it mildly."

Harry groaned. 'Mildly' didn't begin to cut it.

"Is he a bad teacher?" She asked.

"No, he's a great teacher." Neville reassured her. "He's just a bit zealous about being prepared. Just try not to jump when he starts yelling in class. It shouldn't last too long."

Harry snorted again. At least he wouldn't be getting hexed when his back was turned… he hoped.

Melanie was sitting a few places in front of them with Ginny and Collin Creevey, who had become their little tagalong since he was continually deterred from tracking their brothers. Neville's sister had saved a seat beside herself in the hopes that Nanna would be joining her.

"Are they going to hurry up?" Ron moaned. "I'm so hungry I could eat a hippogriff."

"Really, Ron." Neville drawled. "How would Buckbeak feel to hear you say that?"

"He'd commiserate!"

Neville surprised him by applauding his retort. Hermione smiled and ducked her head as she said,

"I'm glad our influence is felt. Nice choice of words, Ron!"

Ron blushed brightly and looked away only to point quickly, "There! Finally!"

McGonagall came in with a long line of very wet first years, including one shrouded in a very wet black moleskin coat that was very likely Hagrid's. Looking for a black-haired girl in the line was impossible, and Harry sat back to wait out the sorting song to find his sister as the names were called.

The boy tucked in the large coat looked for someone at the Gryffindor table and locked onto Collin. He grinned and mouthed, 'I fell in the lake!' to him. He looked absolutely delighted. Harry nearly groaned: now they'd be stuck with two of them in Gryffindor. One was bad enough.

Once the sorting was over, with Nanna and Dennis Creevey sitting over by Melanie and Collin, Dumbledore smiled and told the school to tuck in without a blink to indicate anything was going to be out of the ordinary that year. With the plates full, however, few were up to worrying until after the food was in their bellies.

Nearly-Headless Nick, sitting primly nearby and watching Ron's indulgence with a tight expression, sighed. "You're lucky there's a feast at all this evening. There was trouble in the kitchens."

"Lemme guess," Harry grinned, "Peeves?"

Nick nodded. "The very one. Wanted to attend the feast. Of course, that's out of the question. He's utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. The Friar was all for giving him the chance, but the Bloody Baron firmly put his foot down, wouldn't hear of it and rightly so."

Harry fought down a smirk. The Bloody Baron was a properly intimidating ghost, and didn't like anyone but his Slytherins. Alan got along well with him most of the time and found him an entertaining companion: to most everyone else, including a few Slytherins, his bloody state was extremely unnerving. Alan was apparently immune. None of Alan's descriptions had been entirely endearing, and more than anything it made Harry wonder at just what kind of people he'd grown up with. Comparing the Bloody Baron to Salem hadn't helped matters any.

"Peeves did seem hacked off about something." Ron mumbled through his food. "What'd he do?"

"The usual." Nick waved his hand irritably, pointedly not looking at Ron. "Wreaked mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere, the whole place swimming in soup. Terrified the house elves out of their wits, he did."

Hermione gasped. "There are house elves _here_? At _Hogwarts_?"

"Certainly." Nick replied, surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!"

Harry snorted. "They take pride in that, Hermione. It's the mark of a good house elf that you don't know it's there."

Nearly-Headless Nick nodded. "They hardly ever leave the kitchens by day. They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning… see to the fires and so on."

"But they get _paid_?" Hermione demanded. "They get _holidays_, don't they?"

"Why would they even _want_ those?" Harry asked. "They're house elves! They're as attached to domestic work as you are to your books!"

Hermione turned on him with wild eyes. "What do you know of this? Don't tell you me _you_ have them too!"

Harry tilted his head. "We've ten keeping up Potter Manor. It's a four-story mansion, Hermione. It's pretty much been the same family of elves doing the work for over two centuries."

"I don't believe you!" She pushed her plate away so hard she knocked over her goblet of pumpkin juice, ignoring the spreading stain with fire in her eyes. "Do you know what this is? _Slave labour_!"

"They're hardly slaves!" Harry objected.

"Hard work, with no pay, no sick leave or holidays? What do you call it, then?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, but they're not the least unhappy with their duties and it's safer, more economical than servants. And c'mon Hermione, it's not like we demand they work. I've never seen a sick elf in my life."

"If you never see them work, how do you know that?"

"I just…" Harry threw his hands in the air and glared at Neville. "You help!"

"I can't make any argument you haven't, Harry." Neville shrugged.

"Neville!" Hermione barked. "What about your family?"

"Seven elves at my grandmother's manor, two keeping up the townhouse." He rattled off. "Again, I've never seen them unhappy, and they do a damn fine job keeping everything clean." He grinned. "I remember when grandmother accidentally threw a nightgown over one of their heads. The rest just about got down on their knees begging her to take it back. She did so, but she was so irritated at them for it. They served bland soup for two weeks straight, and sent it back salty as brine if you complained. Grandmother couldn't do a thing to get them to stop."

Hermione's face turned confused. "What was the issue with the nightgown?"

"Giving a house elf clothes frees it." Harry shrugged. "A lot of them simply don't want to be freed. They take their family loyalty very seriously. It's a mark of pride."

Hermione frowned and poked at her dinner. Harry grinned.

"That means that not eating your food will actually be insulting them, you know. I can take you down to the kitchens to meet them sometime if you like."

Hermione suddenly perked. "Neville! That's where you got that food from?"

He blinked, frowned, and then suddenly recalled. "Really? You _didn_'_t_ know and didn't even ask me when I went through that portrait?"

"You just said you were getting food and to wait outside. I thought you were going to ask for something from the servants."

"Yeah…" He scratched his head. "Maybe I should have introduced you then. We wouldn't be having this foolish argument if you'd gotten to meet the elves in their kitchen."

Harry waved him off. "I'll take you down sometime in the week. In the meantime, your food is going to disappear soon."

Hermione returned to poking at her meal, but she began to eat again enough to finish half the plate by the time it disappeared and was replaced by dessert. Ron once again dug in with indecent gusto, and Hermione served herself her normal portions with a thoughtful air.

"Is that part of the house elf magic, the disappearing food?"

Harry frowned. "I don't know. It's something I've never questioned. They do it at home, too, when we have a banquet, but mother cooks most nights herself and serves it by hand."

It satisfied her for the time being. The meal was soon over, and Dumbledore began his announcement. It was standard, until he announced that the Interhouse Quidditch Cup would not be taking place – that threw Harry off, and he straightened furiously.

"What the Hell does he mean by that?" Harry demanded. Hermione impatiently shushed him. Harry pouted even after the Triwizard Tournament was announced in its place until the fervour of the room took him over and he began to smile crookedly. He looked to see how Alan was reacting and saw him just as his shoulders visibly relaxed. Harry frowned. Why was he so relieved there was an age limit?

Whatever it was, he would speak to him about it later. For now, the tournament wasn't until October, and the meal was over. He followed behind Fred and George as they schemed on ways to get their names in, keeping pace with Ron and Neville.

"Either of you entertaining the vision of winning the Triwizard Cup?" Harry asked playfully.

Neville put his nose in the air. "Of course not. I wouldn't stand a chance against the might of the Weasleys."

Ron flushed and forced a laugh. "I suppose my brothers are sure winners, aren't they?"

Neville gave him a sceptical glance. "Your brothers? Ronald, I was worried about you." He sniffed. "I don't doubt you'd beat me soundly. This sounds like it suits the rashest of Gryffindors, and I see no reason to try and face it down. My lily-white skin might be marred."

Harry broke into laughter at Neville's ridiculous fake accent, and Ron and Hermione joined him in laughing as Ron slapped Neville's back and assured him he wouldn't beat him too soundly. Harry wasn't thinking about winning at the moment – he'd gone through that the night before and decided that while it would be fun, it'd be a lot of work. He'd expected something like Dumbledore's protection. The only thing on his mind at the moment was regret – he was going to miss playing the Quidditch Cup.

He bypassed Neville and Ron's invitation to sit by the fire for a time and went straight up to their dorm. He dipped into his trunk and fished out his snake pendant, pulling it out and laying back on his bed as it glimmered in the torchlight. The work was beautiful – a pewter and gold snake in a tight coil, nearly two inches long and solidly heavy. It had been his for two years.

He was the Potter Parselmouth; the _Gryffindor_ Parselmouth, indeed. He'd gotten the pendant from his father at a time when he'd thought he wouldn't care anymore – that his father would hate him for not being what he wanted him to be. Harry treasured it for that memory.

It made him hope he might be able to accept the house Harry had refused.

Harry slipped the pendant back into the trunk and dressed for bed. It had been a very long day, and warm sheets sounded wonderful after the cold storm. He'd deal with school and the Tournament in the morning. Classes would be work enough.

* * *

A/N: And yay, here late again.

Much to all your dismay, I must announce a possible hiatus while I seek the elusive job away from computer-land. I will try to post in the beginning of December at the latest with more news, however the lack of computer just does not make posting viable.

Hoping you'll still be there when I post again.

Fire & Napalm


	18. Chapter 18

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Eighteen:**

For a great start to the year, Harry slept through first period: it was History of Magic, Friday mornings. Charms was more of a success. It would have been nicer if it hadn't preceded Potions.

It would have been nicer still if Neville had been willing to ignore him. He sat down next to Harry at lunch as Hermione coaxed Ron through the History lesson he'd slept through next to Harry. Neville spoke under his breath.

"I know you've been up to something, Harry."

He glared, but Neville wasn't even looking at him. "I was very glad to think I was _done_ listening to Moody."

"We don't have him 'til Thursday – next week. You're not worried about him; you're worried about something else. You took nearly ten minutes to pay attention after Charms class started. You missed an easy question about the definition of Summoning Charms! I know you know them; you did them all through summer."

"I didn't care." He'd been thinking about when he could snag Alan to talk to him about the train and the tournament. Sunday was looking best; Blaise usually clung to Alan like a burr on Saturdays.

"Liar," Neville stated.

"It's none of your business."

Neville finally looked at him, his forehead creased. He was staring at him like Harry was a sixth-year text – he'd watched him dissect them often enough that summer. It meant he didn't understand but fully intended to work at the problem until he did.

"You're getting secretive, Harry," Neville finally said. "It's not… it doesn't seem right, but I'm not actually surprised. I'll let it go, but don't keep this up with me. I can only stand so much bullshit." He stood up and caught an apple off the table. "C'mon, it's Potions next. We don't want to be late."

It seemed Harry wasn't the only preoccupied one. In Potions, Blaise was futilely attempting to catch Alan's attention as he glanced furiously between him and Malfoy two rows behind. Malfoy was staring a hole in the back of Alan's head, the pureblood's two bookends at the desk to his right. In front of him, the three gossipy Gryffindor girls took up their group of three with ease, evening out the student numbers. Harry was worrying about what Malfoy might do if unfettered when Theodore Nott tapped his fingers on the blond boy's desk and softly asked to sit.

Malfoy was surprised, but hid it quickly, acquiescing. Ron, beside him, snorted. "That's a really friendly pair there."

Harry couldn't disagree, but in a pinch, he'd pick Nott over Malfoy. He'd never seen Nott doing anything untoward – he struck him as defensive – but he was also one of the families Harry had a very strong opinion about: one of the pureblood families that was destroying itself from within.

Shaking his head, Harry smiled at Ron. "Do you have everything together? Better to start this off on the right foot."

Ron frowned, but bent to dig through his bag.

IIII

Harry sat down in the library after breakfast on Sunday, and he didn't have to wait long. Alan slipped through the bookshelves and bent to examine the selection around them. He pulled out a text on shielding and dropped it loudly on the table. Harry lowered his book to stare at him over the top.

"Yes?" Harry asked.

"Just… Never mind." Alan shook his head. "What's up? You look distracted."

"Less than you," Harry retorted, but he shut his book and straightened. "You were brutal to Malfoy on the train. What had he been doing to my sister? She seems undisturbed."

"He'd cornered her and started in on how she was inferior. She wasn't the least bothered, telling him a _real_ noble would stand aside for a lady. I stepped in and told him off, then drew him aside for a word about an earlier dispute of ours."

"That was a really low blow, Alan."

"His own words were low to start it, Harry. It's not your concern. Just trust that he earned it several times over." Alan glanced aside. "I _was_ mean, but… the issue bothered me."

"It had nothing to do with what he said to my sister, did it."

"No, it didn't."

Harry watched him and said nothing, finally turning back to his Arithmancy text. He had that class tomorrow afternoon, and it wasn't one he was confident in. It still didn't draw his attention; he was waiting for Alan to say something… anything.

Finally, Harry asked, "What happened with you and Crouch after we left?"

"Nothing much." Alan shrugged. He didn't look up from the book. "Velorian got an earful back at Salem for being belligerent with foreign dignitaries, although no one was surprised; Velorian is belligerent most of the time he opens his mouth. Philana refused to let me or her own children out of her sight until we were back in the sick bay at Salem – she's surprisingly good at that. Merlin, Mary, and Morgan, that woman is scary."

"How was everyone at Salem? Was anyone hurt?"

"A few people, but mostly just the ones who ran to stifle the riot." Alan shrugged, idly rubbing his forehead. "Green blew something up in his face that wasn't too bad; Thomas and several others pulled out riot guns with rubber pellets; Raleigh managed to get himself hurt again and so did Amaranth. A few kids nearly got lost, and someone – we're not sure who – clocked Domenic in the jaw, but that may have just been Thomas."

Harry blinked and shook his head. "Forget I asked."

Alan chuckled. "It was a mess, but nobody died. It was better than most of the messes they get into – normally, there just isn't anywhere near that many young children nearby."

"Do you know Eli and Luce?"

"Yeah." Alan nodded. "Identical twins, they're two of Autumn's kids, my age. A bit of a menace; they take after their uncles, but they're good fun if you don't mind seeing double."

Harry blinked then shrugged. "Cool." He turned to look at Alan carefully, wondering if it was worth it to ask. "And Andrew…?" The vampire still disturbed him.

Alan was watching him carefully. "Andrew's my brother. I grew up with him. You're my best friend."

The casual way Alan could say it settled his mind. He nodded and turned back to his book to hide his pleased smile. It hadn't made him feel much better about Andrew, but at least he knew where he stood. He liked Alan as his best friend. It was good to have it reciprocated.

IIII

Harry shuddered as he left Herbology, trying to stifle the urge to wipe off his glasses – they were perpetually charmed imperturbable, so there was no pus on them. None of the bulges had even splattered that far.

It was just a struggle with flashbacks to gutting beetles last year.

Their next class on Monday was Care of Magical Creatures. Harry waved Neville off to his free period and followed Ron and Hermione down to Hagrid's hut. Harry went straight up to the crates and stared down at the pale, leggy creatures with interest – and a token apprehension.

Hermione was the one to ask,

"What are they, Hagrid?"

"Creatures." He beamed. The Slytherins had come down to join them.

"What _kind_ of creature?" Harry asked, moving to crouch until one of the things suddenly ignited and shot across its companions. He straightened quickly. He didn't have a clue what they were.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts. They jus' hatched, so yeh can raise 'em yourselves."

"Why would we want to raise them?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry couldn't argue that. They looked like deformed, slimy lobsters and reeked of rotten fish. Hagrid certainly hadn't answered.

"I mean, what do they _do_?"Malfoy continued. "What's the _point_ of them?" Crabbe and Goyle laughed appreciatively.

If it had been anyone else asking, Harry would have let it stand, but he wouldn't allow Malfoy to tear down Hagrid like that. Alan looked about as thrilled by the contents of the crates as he was himself, but finally the Slytherin spoke up.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Alan snapped. "As he said, they just hatched. Babies aren't worth much of anything until they grow up. What would you know, anyways?"

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, but Hagrid jumped in and separated them, leading into the lesson of trying to find something they ate. Harry threw the frog livers in and sat back, trying to figure out what on earth Hagrid had gotten into this time. He had never heard of 'Blast-Ended Skrewts'. It did not bode well.

Malfoy whined again about the skrewts ability to burn, sting, and bite, and Harry nearly cursed him. Alan spared him the effort.

"They're effective at getting their point across. Maybe you should learn something from them, you one-trick pony. What's your threat? Oh, yes. 'My father will hear about this!'" Alan snorted. "Really scary, Malfoy. Really scary."

Zabini and Tracey Davis also laughed; Nott looked away as Crabbe and Goyle remained confused. Malfoy flushed and didn't respond, letting the class finish quietly.

After lunch, Harry went to Arithmancy, and then spent his free period until supper, working on his homework.

After supper, things got interesting. Stepping out of the hall, Harry stopped to watch the Slytherins gathered at the entrance to the dungeons. Malfoy and Alan were face to face, staring each other down. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but their expressions told him more than enough. Alan was mocking, Malfoy was furious. Alan stepped back, a grin spreading across his face as Malfoy clenched his fists, struggling not to rise to the bait.

The rest of the Slytherins in their year were arrayed around them. Zabini, Greengrass, and Davis were behind Alan. Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and Bullstrode backed Malfoy. Nott was nowhere to be seen. Lilias Moon was hovering by Malfoy, not quite present but watching, with less-than-wholesome interest. Several older and younger students hung nearby – many more at Malfoy's back than at Alan's.

In Harry's opinion, Alan had stronger, more powerful and more intelligent friends than Malfoy – and he'd drawn some very interesting names. Harry recognized one young woman, and a young man – Salvador Gallegos – both from the Christmas party during third-year, as well as Lucille Pupp: all three were from families as black at they were painted.

At the moment, however, it was a schoolyard standoff, and Alan had already won. Malfoy was bright red, and Alan turned his back on him to head into the dungeons, Zabini and his friends at his back – though not directly.

Harry jumped as Malfoy sent a spell at Alan's back, the pureblood's expression ugly and pale, starkly in contrast to the heat he'd exhibited before. A shield flared and crackled, and Alan spun on his heels, wand out, in time to watch a flash hit Malfoy and throw him past Alan into the far wall. Not a motion had come from a shocked Alan.

Malfoy crumpled to the floor, his eyes looking very, very white. Crabbe and Goyle and all his friends stared from where he lay and then back across the hall to where a teacher was limping into view.

"There ain't an ounce of honour between any of yeh Slytherins, is there?" Moody growled. Harry flinched from his voice but moved closer to watch. He really wanted to know what Moody would do to actual students. He'd never earned any kind of punishment from him – he'd been too terrified of what he might do. Alan, for his part, hadn't moved save to stop his friends from interrupting.

"Don't touch him!" Moody snapped. Crabbe and Goyle turned dumbfounded looks from their inert friend to Moody as he stalked up to where Malfoy was whimpering on the floor.

"Stop whimpering." Moody shot a spell off at him, with no visible response from Malfoy. "You're fine. Get up. I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back is turned. Stupid, cowardly, scummy thing to do."

"You broke something!" Malfoy cried.

"Hardly. Get up."

Harry saw Neville's eyes flash. Ron looked excited, and Harry turned back to watching Moody. What was he doing? Malfoy was plenty well punished already.

Malfoy tried to curl up into a ball, only to get a swift kick to the rump from Moody's claw foot. The Malfoy heir yelped again, and then Moody kicked him a second time.

"Get up before I hex you. You will walk to speak to your Head of House or I will drag you by the ears!"

Malfoy winced and gingerly pushed himself to his feet. Harry felt strong sympathy for him and felt a spur of anger that Ron was laughing under his breath. He had no idea how battered you felt after going a round with Moody – and Harry had known what was coming.

Moody took a hold of Malfoy's arm. Malfoy flinched away from him, muttering something that had 'my father' audible in it. That seemed to snap Alan out of his pose, and he stepped back to allow Moody to clump by, his face stiff and impassive. It was a long time after Moody was gone before Alan made his way into the dungeons behind him.

It was Neville who dragged Harry away, up the stairs towards their common room. Harry followed reluctantly, deliberating avoiding Ron's blissful face and soft murmurs.

It was Neville who snapped.

"That's a horrible thing to do to someone, Ron, and you're sick to have enjoyed it. That could have killed him!"

Ron snapped out of it and glared at Neville. "Malfoy's father is a Death Eater!"

"So are we all only carbon copies of our parents now? I don't want to listen to your schadenfreude!"

Harry didn't want the argument to continue, so he grabbed Neville's shoulder and spun him forward before breaking into a jog up the stairs. His friend kept up easily, slowing as they came to the portrait hole and then bypassing the common room for their dorm. Harry pulled the door shut behind them before dropping into his bed. Neville was pacing until he couldn't take it anymore, biting out. "When do we have Defence?"

Harry groaned and rolled over to catch his bookbag, pulling out his schedule with a frown. "Thursday." He dropped the bag again, burying his head in his pillow. He tried to remember if he had homework, but he was fairly sure it had all been done between Saturday and that afternoon. He had History in the morning, Potions in the afternoon, then Meditations. He was looking forward to Meditations.

"He's only hostile to Slytherins and Death Eaters," Neville blurted. "He did fine over the summer."

Harry sighed. "Malfoy isn't yet his father," he said quietly, half to himself.

"Does he want to be anyone else?"

Harry couldn't respond to that for a long time. He rolled over again and considered going to bed. What was the point? He had no homework to do.

Who was Draco Malfoy? He was an aggressive thorn in Harry's side who thought the world should bow at his feet. He was destructive, narcissistic, and a pain in the ass.

Malfoy had never actually hurt anyone that Harry had seen, just thrown schoolyard hexes and jinxes and tried to control Slytherin. He was failing: Alan was more of a Slytherin, more of a leader than Malfoy without even breaking a sweat. Alan was the Slytherin Prince, not Malfoy – and his father was punishing him for it.

When Harry finally spoke again, he wasn't sure if Neville was listening. It didn't even matter.

"Does he have any choice?"

IIII

Harry was right, and after two periods of Meditations, he did have a better outlook towards Thursday's class. After all, Moody was definitely a competent teacher – he just wouldn't win any 'favourite teacher' awards for politeness or delicacy.

The man clumped into the class and took the register in a voice like gravel, his magical eye watching the students who responded to each name. He didn't so much as blink when he called Harry and Neville's names – no indication at all that he'd tutored them for the last month of summer. Harry wasn't thrilled. He could only remember how bitter Alan and Snape had been in Potions Tuesday.

Like Remus, Moody told them to put their books away before he started his class.

"You've got a thorough grounding in Dark Creatures; your last teacher left me a summary of it. Good man, Mr Lupin; a pity he can't teach you again this year." Moody grimaced, more an emphasis than a change in expression on his scarred face. "However, you're behind – very behind – on Dark Curses and the like. There are many things wizards can do to each other, and many of them aren't pleasant. I'm here for the year to bring you up to scratch."

"The year? Only?" Ron blurted out.

Moody's face swung to look at Ron long enough to make him squirm, and then smiled grotesquely. "Yeah, only a year. Then I return to my retirement. But as I was saying, I need to bring you up on what we as people have in our ability to do to each other. Magic isn't all fun and games.

"So we have curses. According to the Ministry, you're supposed to see counter-curses and leave it at that for this year, but Dumbledore and I have a higher opinion of your nerves than that. I think many of you can face what a real Dark Curse looks like, and Dumbledore agrees. You need to know. A dark wizard won't tell you what he's using, and he won't be nice and polite about it. If he's got it in his head to curse you, he'll do it from behind, from the dark, without warning, and he'll use the worst he knows to bring you down before you can make him face you like a man. You can't fight what you don't know. You have to be ready for it, and you need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking to you."

Lavender squeaked, shuffling her papers beneath her desk. She'd been showing Parvati something and moved it quickly aside. Moody watched her for a long moment, and then returned to addressing the class. His magical eye remained locked her direction, much to her discomfort.

"Would anyone know the curses punished most heavily by magical law?"

Several people tentatively raised their hands, including Harry and his friends. Neville did so with surprising reluctance. Moody looked them over and pointed first to Ron. The hands went down just as slowly, and Ron stammered,

"My dad t-told me about one… The Imperius curse?"

"Your dad would know." Moody nodded. "That curse gave the Ministry one Hell of a time during the war, so he would know." Moody got heavily to his feet, stalked to his desk, and pulled open the large, lower drawer. He set a large glass jar on the top, three black spiders scuttling around inside. Ron twitched.

Moody fished one out and held it in his hand, raising his wand with a grimace and aiming at the spider. "_Imperio."_

The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a thin filament and swung to the desk. Once there, it raised itself onto only four legs, and, with the others pinned tightly above its head, began to march across the desk in a rigidly straight line. Several students tittered, and Moody's face cracked into a grim smile. The spider threw itself into cartwheels and the students began to laugh, everyone but Neville. Harry's smile was a bitter one.

"Think it's funny?" Moody growled. Suddenly, the spider stopped cartwheeling and laid itself flat on the desk, its legs spread wide. "Think about it. What if that were you?" The laughter died instantly. "Total control. The wielder of the spell can make you do whatever they want. You could kill your family, your friends… lie and speak secrets, kill, maim, torture.

"When the war was on, there were many under the Imperius. It was a hell of a job, working out who was under someone's control and who was acting as they wanted. It is a curse that can be fought, but it takes a rare talent and firm grasp on yourself. We'll cover it sometime, but for all of you, the best course it to avoid being hit with it. _Constant Vigilance!"_ Moody barked, and the class jumped. Harry gasped and shook himself. He didn't need more dreams of that shout!

Moody picked the prone spider off the desk and tossed it, limp, back into the jar, where it suddenly started to panic. "So?" Moody asked, ignoring it. "What's the next curse?"

Several hands went up once more, hesitantly and with more thought. Harry raised his own and Moody pointed to him with a faint nod. Harry paused as he lowered his hand before answering.

"The Cruciatus."

Moody nodded tersely. "The Cruciatus." He reached into the jar and pulled out another spider, placing it on the desk and glaring at it for a moment. He muttered something unintelligible, and then waved his wand. The spider grew in size, until it was larger than a tarantula. Ron jerked his chair backwards and gripped its sides, his eyes wide with fright. Harry was staring for a different reason, but half his attention was on Neville, who was painfully stiff.

Moody raised his wand with another disgusted look and muttered, "_Crucio_."

Harry flinched as the curse hit and watched with terrified fascination as the spider curled in upon itself and began to rock violently from side to side. His mind treacherously supplied the agonized screaming that would have come had the spider possessed the ability to make sound. The rocking became spasmodic, and Moody ended the curse, spitting onto the ground before rapidly shrinking the spider and returning it almost gently to the jar.

Harry glanced at Neville. His friend was pale and deathly still, still staring as though he could see the spider jerking about. Gently, he grabbed Neville's hand. Neville flinched then stared at him with a blank face. He said nothing, but he relaxed minutely, and he didn't pull away.

Moody began speaking again. "The Cruciatus is pain. You need nothing more than your want to bring a man to his knees. It was very popular as well, more so than the Imperius – and just as destructive to a person. People have gone insane and clawed their own eyes out under the Cruciatus. Does anyone know others?"

Hermione raised her hand, but Harry didn't, preferring to keep his grip with Neville. He already knew all these, more immediate to his family than anything he ever wished. A glance around proved no one else had raised theirs, so Moody chose Hermione.

"_Avada Kedavra,"_ she whispered.

Moody's face was as grim as the mood in the class. "The killing curse." He nodded slowly. "The last and worst of the three Unforgiveables." He reached slowly into the jar and pulled out the last spider. He held it trapped in his curled fingers as he turned his eyes to everyone in the room. "The killing curse takes a lot of power and intent. Not everyone can use it; no one ever should. I hate the spell myself, and I'll never use it on another human being – even _if_ the Ministry gives its 'permission' to Aurors. It's a despicable spell."

He placed the spider down, and it scuttled across the desk. Moody raised his wand and spoke, not quite shouting. "_Avada Kedavra_."

A brilliant green light shot across the space with a rushing sound, like a giant bird, and the spider fell without a mark or flutter, unmistakeably dead. Harry swallowed painfully; Ron threw himself out of his seat, and several girls gasped.

Moody picked up the dead spider gently and cradled it in his hand, looking darkly across the class. "It's the worst spell you could use on another person: disgusting and cowardly. It's undeniably powerful; there's no counter-curse, no blocking it. It's death, pure and simple. No one has ever survived it when cast correctly. But the casting is tricky. It's a strong curse," he repeated with emphasis, "requiring power and intent. It is one thing to kill a spider, but you could all aim your wands and say the words right now and not give me so much as a nosebleed. But you won't be using this curse on nobody, and you won't learn it in my class.

"I'm here to teach you to defend yourself, but you have to want this and you have to listen. _You have to know_._ Constant Vigilance_!" The class jumped again; Neville's grip on Harry's hand tightened before he released it, shooting Harry a small smile. "You need to see what you're up against, and you need to be prepared. These three curses are all the Unforgiveables. Using them on another human being holds a life sentence in Azkaban. That is what you are fighting out there. Get out your quills… copy this…"

The rest of the class was note taking. Harry wrote silently, and when the bell rang, he walked out in a thoughtful mood. Neville maintained his tight-lipped silence and followed him closely. Outside the classroom, everyone began to chatter about the curses they had seen, talking their worry away.

Ron started in on it himself, but only Hermione was even half-listening. Harry and Neville both were silent; Harry was thinking about what those meant, what his parents faced every day. The Unforgiveables weren't popular in small crime, but in the last war, his parents had faced them everyday they stepped outside. Harry couldn't find it amusing.

On Neville's part, his parents had been tortured with the Cruciatus. They'd survived, rescued before they went crazy, but it'd scarred them – scarred him. His parents didn't talk about it, and neither did he.

Even so, Harry wanted to get away from everyone, even for just a few minutes so he didn't have to listen about how 'cool' it had been. Taking Neville's arm, he dragged him away from the Great Hall and down to the kitchen. He didn't fight, sitting down and accepting the food thrust on them in silence for several minutes. Harry was satisfied just to sit in silence, but after a while Neville spoke.

"When the Dementors went by last year, what did you hear?"

Harry looked up, surprised. "I…"

Neville wasn't even looking at him. "I heard my parents screaming, just screaming like… like they couldn't do anything else. Someone was yelling hoarsely, demanding… I didn't understand anything, but…" He shrugged. "It doesn't take much to figure out what it was."

Harry felt sick inside. Neville remembered his parents' torture. Distantly, drawn out only by the worst creatures in the world. "I remember what happened first and second-year," Harry whispered. "When I nearly got myself killed."

Neville kicked him. "You didn't nearly get yourself killed, not for nothing."

"Just for a stupid reason." Harry shrugged. "First-year it was stupid. Second…" _What was worth death to a Slytherin_? "Second was pride."

"Second was because you couldn't let Ginny die."

Harry smiled crookedly at him. "That works."

Neville was smiling again. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah, I am. What are you going to do about it?"

Neville laughed, and his colour had returned. He was relaxing, his body less tight, his face more alive. He returned to eating, shaking his head. "You're a stubborn bastard, Harry. I couldn't do anything about you if I wanted to."

Harry grinned. "True enough. I'm going to be your friend whether you like it or not. As if you wouldn't do the same to me."

Neville jerked his chin up with a smile, completely in agreement as they returned to eating in the privacy of the kitchens.

IIII

They came back into the common room to find Ron working on his Divination homework and Hermione flipping through a dusty book. Neville shrugged and continued upstairs to their dorm while Harry sat down to pester Ron about his star chart and start working on the Transfiguration essay. Ron finished and laughed triumphantly, leaving for upstairs even though Harry knew he wasn't even near done with his Transfiguration work. Since it wasn't due for a week, Harry let him go, waiting to see if Hermione was going to ask the question on her face.

She did indeed sit down next to him, the book folded shut across her lap, the title _'The Essential House-keeping Guide for New Manors_.' Harry didn't find it particularly promising. "Harry, what is it that makes you so accepting of house-elves? This," she brandished the book, "is despicable. There's a whole chapter on proper punishments! And this was practically the only book I could find in the library which goes into any detail on it!"

Harry sighed and held out his hand for the book. He flipped onto the front page and stopped. "You do realize this was written by a Burke?"

"I don't follow."

"They're a family of about the same flavour as the Malfoys." She still didn't seem to understand, and Harry sighed. "Hermione, my family doesn't punish its elves." He flipped through to the chapter in question and started reading. He didn't even finish the page before shutting it. "This is typical pureblood fare; it doesn't have any bearing on the world now. Nobody with sense would listen to that bollocks."

"They wrote a book like this!" she shrieked. "What does that tell you?"

"Hermione, take a moment and have some sense!" he snapped. "Did you even look at when this was written?"

She frowned. "It's been a little more than a century."

He stared at her, running a hand through his hair. "Did you know that twenty years ago Hogwarts still had corporal punishment? They still lashed kids when they disobeyed. Filch has only been not allowed to use his whips and things for twenty years – it's why he's so bitter. A lot of purebloods think it should still be in use." Hermione still looked disbelieving. He raised his hands, trying to get her to understand. "I could have been beaten bloody last year if Dumbledore hadn't banned that. Don't you get it?"

"What does this have to do with house-elves?" she stammered.

Harry dropped his head and sighed. "Hermione, what makes you think our society is going to _care_ about kicking an elf around when they still don't think there's anything wrong doing the same to their _own children_?"

She was still lost. Harry scowled. "Stop blocking it out because you don't like it, Hermione. I grew up with this. I know for a fact that Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott both get beaten at home, and beaten pretty badly. It's something I've despised for years. Six years ago, at a Ministry party, I stole Scrimgeour's wand on a dare and he grabbed me and slapped me for it. I…" He blushed. "Ah, I wrenched his wand out of his hand and ran off with it – accidentally won his wand from him – and my dad let me keep it, especially when he saw the bruise on my face."

Hermione gasped. "He just _hit_ you?"

Harry nodded.

"How could he think that was okay?"

"Because he'd probably done it to his own kids whenever they misbehaved and I was just another kid who needed discipline."

"That's not okay! It's not right!"

"I know. And I'm telling you this because as laudable as it is that you want to champion for house-elves, I think you're missing the big picture. There's a lot more that needs changing than the treatment of one humble race when we can't even take care of our own."

That shut her up. Hermione was staring at him with wide eyes until she nodded slowly. Harry smiled for real and picked up his books, telling her a quick goodnight to head upstairs. He really didn't like it when he brought that out into the open.

It made him really hate his own world.

IIII

Hermione began to cleave unto the library again, but she had stopped being vocally concerned about the house-elves, for which Ron was grateful. It did mean that Harry was less comfortable meeting Alan in the library for fear of being discovered. Alan only nodded slightly at him, holding his head as he stared down at his assignment. He was still preoccupied. Harry had no idea why, but he was determined to figure it out himself. He'd learned a lot about Alan, but nothing he'd heard so far seemed like it could explain it.

He didn't want Alan's lecture if it turned out obvious, though.

However, it didn't take Alan or Hermione to make him worry as they came into October. Professor Moody took care of that when he came in one class.

"Dumbledore asked me to show you all what it feels like to be under the Imperius. I'll be casting it on you each in turn, to see if you can throw it off."

Hermione immediately raised her hand; Moody gave her a short nod as he cleared the desks off to the sides of the room. "But sir, you said it was illegal… using it against another human being was a life sentence in Azkaban."

"It's very illegal," Moody growled. "Despicable, cowardly curse. But you have to know, and I'm in a position to show you what it's like. I cleared it with Dumbledore before the year began, cleared all my lessons with him, and if you'd rather face it first at the end of the wand of someone who means ill, then you're free to leave. I won't harm nothing but your pride. None of the others willing to use this will give you that courtesy."

Hermione fell silent and remained in class.

Moody went through everyone in class alphabetically. Seamus got into a false swordfight with an invisible opponent. Lavender screamed like a banshee. Hermione strutted about and asked Ron for a tissue. Then Moody came to Neville. Neville went under the curse and relaxed for several long moments – and tripped when he went to step forward, landing hard on his forearms as he tried to regain himself. He didn't move after that, but Harry could see tension lining his shoulders. Finally, he rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling as he started singing without coherent words. After nearly five minutes – much longer than anyone else had been under – Moody raised his wand with a wide grin.

"Good fight, Longbottom, good fight. Would you like to try and beat it? You almost got through."

Neville shook his head quickly and went back to his seat, tucking one leg up against his chest and staring at nothing. Harry touched his shoulder and gave him a wide smile that Neville wryly returned. It wasn't long before it was Harry's turn.

Harry stood at the front and waited for the curse to hit. When it did, it was unmistakable and blissfully pleasant. There wasn't a worry in his head.

Why was that making his nerves thrum sickeningly?

'_Step forward and jump_!' a voice commanded, pleasant and sweet.

Harry felt himself step forward, and then threw himself against the command, taking the fall in a roll – something he'd learned over the summer, and the remembered shout of '_Constant Vigilance_!' threw the last remnants off completely. There was a sharp bang, and the pain in his head doubled as Moody's laughter echoed off the walls.

"Well done it, Potter, well done! Step forward, you need to try again – see if you can repeat it."

Harry stood up with the help of the desk he'd hit, his stomach churning, but everyone was watching, talking excitedly. Neville was watching him intently. Reluctantly, Harry stepped forward, and the bliss settled over him again. This time, although the conscious worry left, his body was still taut – inexplicable in his current state. Why was he so tense? When the command came, he was ready.

'_Sit down_.'

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. The movement threw off his balance, and he staggered as the fog left. He flinched from Moody's laughter.

"Well said, Potter. Take your seat; you just threw it off twice. I'm glad to see it, really glad."

Harry sat next to Neville and struggled not to pull his legs up as his friend had. Neville managed to sit properly as Harry leaned forward on his desk and tried not to think. He felt like he was going to be hit with the curse again, and…

'_Don't cry_.'

He flinched and sat up again, in time to see Ron step up. Ron skipped around the class, and afterwards, Moody reassured him he'd felt him fighting, but that he needed conviction and _constant vigilance_!

On the way out, Ron griped about how was he going to be vigilant if he lost his hearing to all Moody's yelling, but he certainly didn't say it to Moody.

In amongst this, their homework load had increased substantially again. The teachers explained it was because they were nearing their OWL year – despite the tests being _next_ year, not this one. Ron was the loudest of their group to gripe, but due to Harry and Hermione's study habits, and Neville's ridiculous ease, he didn't keep it up. Harry and his friends were among the top in their year: Hermione and Neville remaining head-to-head in every class with four or five other students, and Harry just below them – except in Defence.

Ron's biggest problem was that he didn't have nearly the reading done that they did, although Harry was struggling there as well – he kept getting distracted by other books entirely. Aside from that, nobody believed him when he said that Snape wouldn't _really_ poison anyone – not without having the antidote on hand himself. He didn't even need Alan's word for it, he had his mother's, but he couldn't tell _them_ that. Harry deliberately used that to choose a poison with a complicated antidote that he wouldn't likely use. Alan had suggested basilisk poison – Harry had told him where to shove it. Basilisk poison had one cure: phoenix tears. Not a resource in great supply.

His confidence in his choice of poison led him into a bit of trouble with Neville one day in the library. His honorary brother spent nearly as much time in the library as Hermione, and he finally waylaid Harry one day on his way back to talk to Alan. Harry took him to a table near where he'd been headed, a corner just as secluded but without the bay window or the Slytherin present. Neville sat down and propped up his extra Charms book and spoke without looking at Harry.

"Your attitude has changed through last year, Harry. You're becoming more Slytherin."

Harry flinched. "Neville…"

"Don't bother. I don't want more bullshit. I just want to know what I'm seeing for what it is." He set his book down and looked over at Harry. "You're reticent and a good liar, which you never were before. I didn't catch you at it last year, but it's become kinda obvious over the summer. You're awkward around your dad, Moody, and Sirius – and you've been lying to Ron and Hermione all over the place now that we're back in school." Neville frowned. "You changed a lot last year, fighting with Prince. You've grown up. And now you're manipulating Snape – I looked up the poison _Valendicia_. It's a hell of a thing, with a complicated antidote."

Harry kept his face carefully blank, knowing that any reaction would give something away. He couldn't think of how to redirect Neville from the topic – he'd hit it on the head, and Harry wasn't ready to talk someone out of it. He remained silent, waiting to see where Neville was going.

His friend put his head in his hands and sighed. "Something is going on, and I can't see what it is. Harry, please, don't be as much of a headache as Hermione was last year. I could figure her out faster than I have ever managed you."

"I don't _want_ to explain," Harry said. "Not now. This is something I'm doing for me."

"Not yet," Neville repeated. "You're talking to someone and getting information. I'd bet my eyeteeth it's a Slytherin, and you were going to meet him somewhere in the library." He frowned at him then waved him off. "You know, don't answer that. Share with me something, your reasoning behind the poison, and just promise you won't kill yourself."

"I'm not doing anything as stupid as Hermione and her Time-turner." Harry smiled. "And I just picked a complicated poison he won't likely have the antidote on hand for. He has to have one in case ours doesn't work."

"And if he picks a different poison than the one we decided to study?" Neville frowned, then sighed, "What kind of antidotes are there for Valendicia anyways? Where did you even_ find_ it?"

Harry grinned. "Very few. It's a spell that requires ingredients. It's in a book I found… somewhere." In his and Alan's corner. "Pick something a little easier, like Strychnine."

"That's a muggle poison, Potter, with no antidote at all. I want to practise against magical poisons."

Harry shrugged, picking up his armful of books again. "Fine by me. You done?"

"Yes, but you get to stay here and wait – hey, I'm talking to you! Get back here!" Neville's stern tone was broken with laughter, and Harry waved as he disappeared into the bookshelves, wandering slightly to make sure Neville didn't follow before he turned to head back to his corner with Alan.

Alan was seated with his Charms book in front of him, chewing on a liquorice wand. Alan looked up over his book with a smirk.

"Longbottom trusts you a lot, doesn't he?"

"We're practically brothers." Harry nodded. "We were raised together, like you and Andrew."

Alan's mouth twitched into an honest smile. "Brothers are always fun. And I…?" He raised an eyebrow.

Harry remembered his own foray into what he meant to Alan and smiled as he got to answer back,

"You're my best friend. Neville knows my past, but you know my present."

"That's a gift." Alan grinned, turning back to his book.

Harry put his down and asked, "Did Moody use the Imperius on your class too?"

Alan froze for a long moment before he set his book down with a tight expression. "Yes."

Harry looked him over and decided asking about his discomfort would be unappreciated, so he changed instead. "Did anyone break it?"

"I did," Alan admitted. "It wasn't hard," he sneered. "Draco was useless at it, didn't even fight. Blaise and Daphne did – Theodore nearly broke it, wouldn't do what he asked properly – sat on the ground instead of a chair, swore instead of smiled, that sort of thing. I was impressed."

Harry was impressed too. He wouldn't have expected that of Nott. "I broke it," Harry offered. He smiled at Alan's surprise. "It wasn't hard," he mimicked, and Alan grinned. "Neville fought it like Nott did, and Ron tried, but failed. It's not a nice curse." He rubbed his arm once and forced himself to not do it twice.

"It isn't," Alan agreed. "Under it, you will happily do what you're told and then wake up knowing the blood on your hands was your own doing and you did it all with a smile." He shook himself. "I can't imagine… think about waking up in your own home, knowing you murdered everyone there in happy obedience to the little voice in your head."

Harry shuddered. Alan watched him with a tight expression.

"He's not proud of it," Alan said.

Harry looked up, surprised, but he knew immediately who Alan meant. "I know that. You wouldn't accept him if he was; my mother would have _killed_ him. Snape really isn't as bad as he likes to act."

Alan smiled warmly again. "He likes you better every year that's passed. It helps that you're doing your own projects, acting like your own person rather than following all of your father's suggestions. He really likes your pendant."

Harry fingered the heavy snake around his throat. He'd been wearing it for the past week since the Imperius incident, which had coincided with the conclusion of several trials that had given his dad some much needed time off. It comforted him and made him feel he could be proud of his father.

Alan watched his face and smiled. "It's good workmanship, and the snake is gorgeous."

The line didn't come out as English. Harry could understand it perfectly, but the words in his ears were thin hissing. Harry responded in kind, "Thank you."

Alan shook his head and turned back to his book. Harry pulled open his own to read as well. They sat in silence for over an hour, until it was time for supper. Harry had just shut his own when Alan gasped softly.

"Are you alright?" Harry looked to see Alan with his hand pressed against his right eye.

Alan nodded curtly. "Just a headache. Migraine." His eyes were shut tight as he moved to rub his forehead. "It won't last, not really."

Harry frowned. "That's… still not good." He couldn't help but remember the last few times Alan had had headaches.

"My dad and Louis know."

Harry sighed and forced a smile. If the adults couldn't handle it, there really wasn't anything to do but wait, even as much as he hated the record of the last few years and how badly he'd been disappointed by them before.

* * *

A/N: Ugh. Cold hands, staying at a cousin's, and looking for work.  
I got feeling stircrazy, so here's two updates. Details on timing on chapter nineteen.

This does not count as an end to the hiatus.

Please read and review,  
Fire & Napalm


	19. Chapter 19

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Nineteen**:

The day after the talk with Alan, the notice went up to expect the delegations from the other schools on the thirtieth. It sent the school into a cleaning frenzy. Irate portraits were scrubbed raw, suits of armour were polished, and Peeves was chased down from every angle. The talk of the school covered nothing else, and teachers were cracking down on any foolery and failure. Ron got a detention from McGonagall for getting tired of Neville's focus and spilling ink down his shirt. Neville wouldn't have said anything – he cleaned it himself with a short glare – but McGonagall had seen. Ron refused to speak to him for a full day.

Then the thirtieth came, with the Great Hall decked out in silk hangings representing the whole school. That it was Sunday didn't change anything: students were almost completely out of control, and it took all the teachers and a megaphone to get everyone together for the arrivals. Bags were left in the common room, and everyone was dressed in their school robes – whether they'd been thrown on over jeans or not.

Harry took a moment to be offended and irate at his lack of height. They'd put Ginny Weasley in front of him so he could see. Instead of speculating with everyone else, Harry had the random thought that he hadn't picked any fights with Alan so far that year. He was contemplating how to find an excuse to do so when Dumbledore announced the imminent arrival. Harry looked up in time to glimpse the powder-blue carriage with its harness of enormous winged horses as it came in to land.

Neville stepped on his foot and whispered,

"You're staring, Harry. Stop obsessing over the horses."

He turned and gave him an offended look. "I wasn't _obsessing_. They're just awesome."

A boy jumped out of the carriage and dropped the steps before stepping back to allow a very tall, very aristocratic woman to step out. Harry had to wonder just how much the inside of the carriage was expanded to comfortably accommodate her and the dozen students who followed. Their Headmistress was easily comparable to Hagrid in size. Dumbledore barely had to bend to kiss her hand in greeting.

The Beauxbatons students went inside almost immediately, their robes inadequate for the cold. The waiting for Durmstrang began. Harry felt a twinge. It was a reputedly dark school somewhere cold, and he honestly would've been very interested in going there – he was curious about what he didn't know. The books from Grimmauld place weren't nearly enough to satisfy him.

There was a large, sucking sound from the lake. The boat rose, majestic and gleaming wet, from deep beneath the water, popping up like a toy cork to move towards the shore and disembark. The biggest downer for him was the introduction of Karkaroff. He'd heard enough about him: a Death Eater, and worse, a spineless coward. Harry almost felt offended that he was actually Headmaster at Durmstrang – surely they could do better.

It was Ron who started jabbing them with his elbow. "Krum!" he whispered hoarsely. "Harry, it's Viktor Krum!"

Neville hushed him, but it only lasted until they were released to join the foreign students inside. Ron moaned in admiration again, and Hermione rolled her eyes. It didn't help they were close enough to hear the sixth-year girls squabbling over a tube of lipstick in the hopes of getting his autograph.

"Do any of you have a quill?" Ron moaned.

"Neville might, but good luck getting him to part with it." Harry shrugged. "C'mon, Ron, there's food to be had."

From the Gryffindor table, they could see the guests making themselves comfortable.

"Look at them," Hermione grumbled, looking on as the Beauxbatons students clutched their robes and scarves tighter around their necks at the Ravenclaw table. "You'd think it was still freezing, and that Hogwarts was a draughty little shack with the way they're shivering."

In contrast, the Durmstrang students were shedding their furs to reveal blood red robes and curious faces; they stared around at the enchanted ceiling and the gold settings with interest. Ron snorted at their placement at the Slytherin table.

"Would you look at that, Prince is already sucking up to them. I bet Krum will turn him down flat."

Harry looked up quickly and found that Ron was right that Krum and Prince were talking, but neither looked particularly thrilled with each other. Harry suspected it had something to do with the sour look on the face of the Durmstrang student across from Alan – Harry was staring at Alan's back – and Malfoy's place next to Krum. It appeared Alan and Krum were deliberately snubbing their dinner partners, and as they continued to talk, both looked a little keener at sharing with each other.

The room hushed slightly as Headmaster Dumbledore and the visiting Heads entered the room. The Beauxbatons students leapt to their feet as Madam Maxine passed, completely unembarrassed by the attitude of some of the students around them. They sat when she did. Dumbledore remained standing, turning to face the students.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and – most particularly – guests!" Dumbledore beamed across the hall. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts! I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable!"

One of the Beauxbatons students, still hidden beneath a shawl, gave a short derisive laugh. Hermione hissed at her.

"The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," Dumbledore said. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

He sat, and Karkaroff immediately leaned forward to engage him in conversation. The tables filled with food, and Harry was delighted to see it had become a huge variety. The house-elves had pulled out all the stops. There were several dishes that were distinctly foreign. Neville sat forward with interest and moved to sample some of the unknowns – Harry was determined to stick with his favourites for the most part.

"What's _that?_" Ron asked, pointing to the shellfish stew Neville was dipping into.

"No clue," Neville said, just as Hermione answered,

"Bouillabaisse."

"Bless you."

"It's French," Hermione explained. "I had it on holiday, summer before last, it's very nice."

"I'll take your word for that," Ron responded, returning to the black pudding. Harry laughed, and Neville nodded slowly, refraining from trying more.

Halfway through the meal, Hagrid sidled in from the side room with a bandaged hand and a grin. Harry groaned: he was still trying to raise the skrewts, much to Harry's disgust, despite them being so unruly as to injure him.

"Excuse me," a girl with a heavy accent asked, "are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

Ron squeaked. Harry didn't even look before lifting the pot for her to grab. "Nobody's taken much," he answered, then stopped, momentarily speechless.

"It was lovely." Ron beamed. Fortunately, the girl left before Harry and Neville broke down laughing, the spell broken by the ridiculousness of it all. Ron couldn't tear his eyes away, but he gulped and said, "She's a _veela_."

"She is not," Hermione snapped. "No one else is gaping like an idiot."

Neville mutely pointed out several others who were staring intently, then shrugged himself. "I'd say part veela, probably."

"She's definitely not normal." Ron breathed, leaning to keep an eye on her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"

"That's because you're not looking," Neville scolded, his eyes deliberately on his plate.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, when you've put your eyes back in, you can see who just arrived."

Harry and Neville immediately looked up to the staff table, staring at two men they distantly recognized. Mr Bagman had seated himself next to Professor Karkaroff; the second man, cheerful in dull orange robes, had sat next to Madame Maxine. He was talking pleasantly with her, already making her laugh.

"I don't recognize the man next to Maxine." Hermione frowned.

"I think it's Kenner Templar; he replaced Crouch." Harry shrugged. "He's a pretty nice guy; I know he doesn't like Lucius Malfoy."

Neville snorted. "He's a political Hufflepuff, if you can believe that."

"And not a soft, cuddly one either," Harry laughed.

The pudding arrived, and Ron tried to draw the girl over with a strange blancmange, but she didn't bite. Harry and Neville kept their mouths shut: Hermione's snort was enough. Finally, with the plates cleared and the students fed, everyone's attention went to Dumbledore. Fred and George were intent on him, their aspirations for the cup not forgotten. Dumbledore spread his hands with a warm smile as he looked over the eagerly attentive room.

"The time has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure we will be following this year. First, let me introduce the newly appointed Mr Kenner Templar," the smiling brunet stood and bowed shallowly, "taking over for Mr Crouch as Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation." Pleasant applause followed, the students heartened by his pleasantly eager face, and Professor Sprout's enthusiasm for what was apparently her former student.

"Also welcome Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." The applause for him was much louder, either from his fame as a Beater, or his showy acknowledgement of waving and grinning.

"Mr Templar has done wonderfully to pick up from where Mr Crouch left off, and he and Mr Bagman will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxine on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts." The attention in the room sharpened, and Dumbledore acknowledged it with a smile. "The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch."

Mr Filch moved from the far shadows, carrying a large case decorated with enough jewels to make it look tawdry. A murmur of interest moved through the gathered students as Filch walked up the aisle with the old chest.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been looked over by Mr Templar and Mr Bagman, and the necessary arrangements have been made and double-checked." Dumbledore continued as Mr Filch placed the chest on the table between himself and the Headmaster. "There will be three tasks for the champions, spaced throughout the school year, that will test the champions in different ways… their magical prowess… their daring… their powers of deduction… and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

Silence fell throughout the room, and Harry breathed slowly, turning carefully in his seat to glance over at Alan. His friend was watching Dumbledore through soft eyes, playing on his plate with his knife, tension evident through his shoulders even as he shrugged off a friend's hand of concern. It made absolutely no sense.

"As you know, three champions participate in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform in each of the tournament tasks, and the champion with the highest total at the end of task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector… the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped three times on the top of the casket. When the lid opened, he reached inside and removed from within a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It was largely unremarkable except for the fact that it was filled to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. The cup was placed on top of the closed casket, clearly visible to everyone within the Hall.

"Anyone wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly on a slip of parchment and drop it into the Goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Hallowe'en, the Goblet will return the names of the three it judges most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight where it will be freely accessible to those who wish to compete.

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," Dumbledore's gaze swept solemnly over the students, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete, this Tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once the Goblet of Fire has selected a champion, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure that you are wholeheartedly prepared to participate before you drop your name into the Goblet.

"Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all."

Harry and his friends got up and walked down the table, listening to Fred and George discuss how to get in.

"An Age Line! That should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it?" Fred wondered.

"Wouldn't Dumbledore have thought of that?" Neville queried. "That's a pretty obvious cheat, isn't it?"

The twins brushed Neville off, much to Neville's annoyance, but Harry pulled him back to offset Ron's obsessive search for Viktor Krum. As they passed the Slytherin table, Harry heard Karkaroff chivvy his students towards the door. The man started to address Krum, then fell strangely silent.

"Am I really that pretty?" Alan drawled. "Excuse me." The raven-haired Slytherin brushed the foreign Headmaster aside and went out the door, his friends tailing him – and so were Karkaroff's eyes, his expression somewhere around horror. It lasted only a few moments before Karkaroff recovered himself, returning his attention to Krum once more, deeply interested in his student's conversation during supper.

IIII

Fred and George missed breakfast Monday as they tested the age line and received nice, white beards for it. Classes were cancelled – Dumbledore did not expect anyone to be paying attention – and Harry filled his own mind with a reluctant visit to Hagrid and another attempt to talk him out of the skrewts. Unfortunately, they were all still fine, though their numbers had dropped to twenty of the damn things instead of hundreds.

The library and homework was enough to fill the rest of the day, and everyone packed into the Great Hall early for the Hallowe'en feast. Hagrid had arrived with Madame Maxine in a very good humour, and the room was packed with every Hogwarts student and the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang guests. Harry looked immediately for Alan and found him – he hadn't seen the Slytherin at any time that day except during breakfast, when Alan's friends had surrounded him. Alan hadn't even been in the library.

The Goblet was resting below the staff table, and it was the focus of every pair of eyes. Harry and his friends sat next to the once more clean-shaven twins, and his and Neville's sisters. The twins had bowed to Dumbledore's expertise and had thrown their hopes behind Angelina Johnson – or any Gryffindor, for that matter.

The Hallowe'en feast wasn't as warm, tense, or, indeed, enjoyable as it had been the last few years. Everyone's energy was waiting for the reading from the Goblet, all eyes drawn inexorably to the soft, blue-white light and the choice it was about to make. Even Alan was staring with a sharp focus, his hands tight before him.

Finally, the plates cleaned themselves spotless, the talk escalated, and then disappeared as Dumbledore stood. Beside him, the other two Headmasters were watching with the same interest as the rest of the students. Ludo Bagman was smiling and almost bouncing with excitement. Templar was Bagman's opposite, watching Dumbledore and the Goblet with soft curiosity.

"I suspect the decision is almost at hand. One more minute should be enough," Dumbledore said, his voice completely calm. "Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber," he indicated the door behind the staff table, "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

Dumbledore gave his wand a great, sweeping wave, and the lights went out, leaving the only illumination the wavering blue flames of the Goblet of Fire. A gentle murmur passed through the Hall, all eyes steadily focused at the front on the almost painfully bright Goblet, several people checking watches and shifting with nervous energy.

"Any second now," Lee Jordan whispered.

The flames inside the Goblet turned red. Sparks began to fly, and a tongue of flame grew into the air, supporting a scrap of charred parchment. The room gave a collective gasp.

Dumbledore calmly reached forward and plucked the parchment from the flame. He extended his arm to read the parchment by the light of the once more blue-white flames,

"The champion for Durmstrang," he announced, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprise!" Ron yelled, as tumultuous applause exploded from the gathered students. Harry watched Krum stand and slouch up the Slytherin table to Dumbledore, where he turned and continued on into the room behind the staff.

"Bravo, Viktor," Karkaroff shouted above the clamour, "knew you had it in you!"

Once Viktor left, the cheering died swiftly into expectant silence once more, and the attention returned to the Goblet of Fire. They were not disappointed; the flames turned red not seconds later and another tongue of fire shot out, throwing the next name aloft. Dumbledore snatched it and read out once more,

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"

It was the veela-like girl who stood and swept back her hair before striding between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables to the top of the hall and along the path Viktor had taken before. Neville, beside him, snorted,

"Look, they're all devastated." He indicated the remaining Beauxbatons students, and Harry fought between pity and amusement. Two of those not selected had dissolved into tears and dropped their heads to the arms.

Once Fleur Delacour was gone into the far room, the silence grew oppressive with expectations. The Hogwarts champion was next…

The Goblet turned red. Harry clenched his hand as something in his stomach turned to lead. Dumbledore caught the last, torn piece of parchment from the air. He held it back to read it, and paused. Harry felt a tide of dread. What was wrong? Who was it?

Dumbledore was silent so long, a short murmur rose before he spoke in a terribly bald tone,

"Alan Prince."

The silence was deafening. The way Dumbledore had spoken left no doubt as to the complete shock of the announcement. Even those who didn't know the name knew something was wrong. There was a ringing in his ears, and Harry turned to the Slytherin table, needing to see something, but everyone else had the same idea. Harry felt sick and betrayed.

"Alan Prince," Dumbledore rumbled, "please come forward."

There was a loud clatter, and the silence was so thick he could hear Alan's footsteps as he stalked to the front. He went to stand next to Dumbledore, and before the Headmaster could speak, Alan's voice rang across the Hall, shaking with emotion as he jerked out his wand, straight to his side.

"I swear on my magic and history, I did _not – enter – my name_, nor did I want it entered for me."

The wand flashed white, and he tucked it away. Harry felt something relax and something else tense in him; the silence stretched. Dumbledore was staring at Alan who stood defiantly in front of the staff table, his hands clenched at his sides. A murmur broke out between the tables.

"Bloody liar," Ron growled. "I'll bet he planned this to not get into trouble."

Neville rubbed his nose, eyes narrowed. "He gave an oath, though… Those are binding; you can't lie, not without repercussions. If you do, what you swore by will be denied: he'd be a squib, and he'd lose any blood-borne gifts, any claim to pureblood status… or his blood would boil. Nobody really knows; they don't tend to break history oaths."

Harry watched as Alan glared daggers at Dumbledore; something Harry shared with him at the moment. An equal portion of his glare was meant for Alan himself. Alan had somehow known this could or would happen, and he hadn't told him. Dumbledore had overlooked a glaring flaw of someone putting forth an unwilling participant. How the Hell had Alan warranted selection over students three years ahead of him, anyways?

"Prince, please continue to the far room. It appears you are the Hogwarts champion."

Alan's fists released and clenched again. He didn't move, but he growled, "Fucking _arrogant_." He spat on the floor before stalking around the table and through the far door without looking back.

Dumbledore watched him leave, slumping slightly before he turned back to the students.

"It appears that an unfortunate miscalculation has given us an underage champion. As it stands, the Hogwarts champion is Alan Prince." He ignored the angry murmur from most of the students and continued. "I ask that you all give your greatest support to the champion of your school and cheer them on in their appointed tasks, giving every ounce of support you can muster. The support of watching and cheering is a very real contribution, and one I expect all of you will take part in and enjoy."

The words fell flat on Harry's ears. Something had gone very wrong: Alan Prince was enrolled in a dangerous, exclusive tournament, his life on the line, and a lot of acclaim too. They'd talked, jokingly, about entering. Alan hadn't been that interested, it had just amused him, but he'd been worried, tense, for two months.

Two months he'd worried about something this unlikely? Alan hadn't told him something; he hadn't told him something big.

Whatever it was, it had just loomed up and taken a bite – and Harry wanted to know why.

IIII

Alan slammed open the door in the back room and turned and kicked it shut. He had dreaded this, feared it since Dumbledore announced it, and now,

"I was _fucking_ right!" he snarled.

"Is something wrong?" the Beauxbatons girl – Fleur – asked from behind him. "Do zey want us back in ze hall?" She didn't sound convinced. His swearing probably hadn't helped her delusion that he was just a messenger.

"No," he bit out. "Dumbledore made a mistake, and here I am. They'll come back and the shit will hit the fan soon enough." He got two blank looks for his colloquialism, but he just stepped back to lean on the wall and await the teachers' arrival. As the door opened, his father came to his side, giving him as much of a suspicious look as Dumbledore was. Neither of them knew... He'd wanted it to remain that way. Before either could start in on him, Alan raised his hand and said,

"I would request you skip the _why_ and get into the question of is there any way to get me out in favour of another champion?"

Both foreign Headmasters frowned darkly at him. "Running already?" Karkaroff asked. "I would expect so; you did not think your ridiculous foolishness would pay off, did you? I vote he should stay and live out his foolishness."

"Your vote is heard." Templar nodded, then looked at Alan. "However, I am inclined to believe Alan's oath. If you did not want entered, how did it happen?"

"I asked to bypass that," Alan growled. "Just tell me if I can get out. I swear I did not enter myself."

Templar caught all the attention and shook his head, flipping through a large tome as he spoke. "I do not believe there is. By all accounts, your selection was completely legitimate. Your name, in your writing," he looked at Dumbledore and got a nod, "was placed in the Goblet with all the others. It would take some very impressive and direct magical tampering – if it is even possible without breaking the Goblet – to get the Goblet to produce a name that does not meet the requirements." He glanced up from the tome and around at the teachers. "Is Alan something of a prodigy in class?"

Alan looked up, curious. McGonagall's lips tightened. "He is one of ten students at the top of his classes, usually fifth or sixth," she sighed softly, and admitted, "and the top students in his year are performing exceptionally well this year. It's a very close race."

Severus merely nodded.

Templar shrugged. "The only requirement of the Triwizard Tournament in which age makes a difference is the accumulation of knowledge. Daring, deduction, and the ability to cope with danger can easily develop in a younger student. A wide education and a proclivity to study can bridge the gap." He rubbed his nose again. "Not to sound judgemental, but Salem would inure many youths to danger. I believe it likely, then, that Alan Prince has the capacity his selection suggests, and, as such, there are no grounds and no way we can change him out as champion."

"Now we can move on," Moody growled. "What was it that got your name in there, then?"

Alan looked away and sneered. "Look, if it's not relevant to the tournament, I'm not discussing it here. After, yes, to those to whom it is relevant, but _everyone_ does _not_ need to know."

Moody grumbled, but he backed down. Dumbledore put his hands together and nodded. "Very well, if that is settled…?"

Nobody objected. Madame Maxine and Karkaroff both looked pleased. Alan himself felt a bit overburdened, but if the Goblet thought he could do it, then he supposed he could. But the only reason he could think he'd been added was to risk his life. That didn't help his confidence. That didn't help at all.

Templar stepped forward and cleared his throat, still smiling pleasantly. "Well then, the first task is a test of your daring. You will be facing a danger unknown, an important quality in a wizard. You must have courage and be on your guard – ready to face anything. The task will be on November twenty-fourth, and will take place in front of a panel of judges and the other students. You will learn what you face then and only then.

"As champions, you cannot ask for help nor accept help of any kind from teachers for the completion of any of the tasks. You will face the first task with your wand only. After the first task, the second will be explained. Due to the demands of the Tournament, you will be exempt from the end of year tests. Any questions?"

Alan merely shook his head slowly. Mr Templar nodded and gave Dumbledore a hint of a bow, turning the talking over to him.

Dumbledore smiled at them. "I believe you are free to return to your beds, then. Alan, if you would come to my office? I believe we have something to discuss."

Alan didn't want to go, but he didn't see any other options. He followed the Headmaster, his father, and the Deputy Headmistress, pulling up behind with Alastor Moody. Severus had remained stalwartly silent throughout the evening, despite keeping a comforting proximity during the interrogation.

Alan stared at the gargoyle and tried not to blink at the choice of password: candy? Right. But once he was in the office of the Headmaster, he was distracted by everything around him. Dumbledore cleared his throat to reclaim his attention.

"Severus, if you can retrieve Alan's guardian? I believe he or she should be here for this – Alan, is it Louis or Philana who is legally your guardian?"

"Philana." Alan shrugged. "But Louis has her full confidence, and he's the easier one to talk to. Neither of his brothers are allowed to stand in for her, only him because he's got the level head in the family..." Including Philana, but Alan didn't add it.

Severus had already tucked his head into the fireplace, flooing Salem. Alan stood, arms crossed, and tried to put his thoughts together. This was the conversation he'd been dreading since he came to this school. He had thought it would be a lot less… exciting when it came to this.

Just his luck. He had felt paranoid for two months, and then got proven right on the fucking long shot. Damn Salem luck.

Severus pulled out, and someone flooed in after him. The tall, dark-haired figure straightened – and Alan groaned.

"Hullo, Aunt."

"Alan, what kind of miserable mess did you get yourself into this time?"

He rolled his eyes and redirected her anger. "It was Dumbledore who made _this_ mistake."

The woman snapped her eyes to him instead. "Well? What happened?"

Dumbledore calmly answered. "Alan Prince has been chosen as the champion for the Triwizard Tournament."

She turned again to frown at Alan. "That's not like you at all to enter yourself. I thought you said there was an Age Line."

"I didn't enter my name."

"And should I believe you?"

"Considering I stood at the front of the Great Hall and swore an oath to that effect, yeah, you should believe me." Alan glared. "I'm not one of your sons, Aunt. I'm not crazy, and I don't _try_ to get into this kind of trouble."

She frowned and tapped her foot on the floor. "Well?" she asked the room at large. She glanced around and sighed. "Are any of you going to act like teachers and verify this, or do I need to start screaming?"

"Philana…" Alan groaned.

"Yes, he swore an oath," McGonagall bit out, her face tight like she'd sucked a lemon, "saying he neither entered his name nor wanted it entered. He swore it on his magic and history, so I am reasonably sure he was honest."

"Cast a spell," Philana ordered. "Lumos."

Alan rolled his eyes and did so: it was as bright as always.

"Conjure a snake."

Alan stared at her, wide-eyed. "Aunt!"

"No, shut up. You got into this mess, and you know there's one reason for it. You've had headaches for two months despite your Occlumency, and there was a riot, a Dark Mark, and all that shit earlier. If it's not because of that prophecy, someone obviously believes it and is marching forwards anyways."

Alan shrank back and seethed with anger. This was why he didn't want Philana here! She was too damn talkative, too blunt, and she never respected him! Dumbledore was sitting up straight in his chair, staring at her.

"What was this about a prophecy?"

Alan shrank back closer to his father, who seemed about as happy as he was with the turn in conversation. He bit his lip; he knew what was coming, and he never liked hearing it.

"My darling half-sister sent me a letter with her bouncing baby boy. She said her dear _boyfriend_ – whom she was oh, seventy percent sure fathered the child in question – had told her a prophecy about boys born in July, thrice defying the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, and then the thing cut off. She didn't know much else, but suspected it would be the death of her and she wanted her son protected and raised in case it was him. Then the Dark Lord in question turns up, kills her, and the rabbity lone wolf she'd picked up during her attempt to hide brings me her baby, giving me the letter and her suspicions and one idiot with no practical life skills to take care of too. As if my idiot sons weren't enough trouble."

Dumbledore frowned at her over his half-moon glasses. "Who was your half-sister that she had defied the Dark Lord?"

Philana snorted. "She was a half-assed witch with a snake-tongue inheritance from a supposed cadet line of Slytherin. It was about the most important thing about her, and junior here picked up the talent of Parseltongue from her – and blessedly, none of her delusions. It was the rumours that sent the badass to her door – along with a couple dozen _other_ men with more money than sense – but she told the psycho with the snake-obsession she had no interest in 'continuing Salazar's noble line' with anyone, much less him."

Alan was ready to dart out the door. Philana and her sister… hadn't gotten along. Time had not softened her opinion.

Dumbledore looked between her and Alan and wisely changed the subject. "You believe the prophecy to be why Alan would have had his name entered?"

"Well, how many other reasons are there someone would put another person forward in a dangerous contest more aimed at schoolyard bravado than anything else? It's not likely it's school spirit, especially when he's such a bundle of –"

"Enough!" Severus barked. "Lay off your child. I believe you have made your opinion of your sister and her son very clear, Miss."

She turned and looked him over. "Severus Snape." She smiled. "Better taste than usual on her part, I see."

Severus' black eyes snapped with fury, and he stepped forward.

"Severus, leave it be," Dumbledore rumbled.

"Oh, he can pick a fight if he wants." Philana shrugged. "It's not like I care if an ex-Death Eater wants to piss me off because he thinks I'm being unfair to his son. Alan isn't that easily wounded."

Alan almost wished Severus would hex her anyways. Philana had never seen that he didn't like her talking about his mother. He'd gone to Louis or his godfather rather than her – she had made her opinion clear very early on.

"While I see you have an opinion," McGonagall cut in, "I believe most of our questions have been answered. Is there anything else you can think relevant?"

"Are you comfortable with the reasoning that Alan is the boy of the prophecy?" Philana asked. "I'm looking from my limited view here. I think I know maybe three people myself who had anything to do with your Voldemort, or, Hell, Britain, period – and none had children born in July. One in late August, but not July by even as much of a stretch as Alan was."

"There are two other potentials," Dumbledore reassured her. "We have been watching both since their births. While we do not know if they were entered and Alan simply won out or if Alan was singled out deliberately, it seems reasonable to assume that even if Alan is not the boy in question, someone believes he is, or could be, and has taken action against him. It is very helpful to know this, very helpful indeed."

"Good." She hesitated, and then asked, "Is that everything you needed, Alan?"

"That's fine." He paused. "Is Louis around?"

"He was out at a criminal case this evening. He should be back in the next few days." She turned to fish through her pockets. "And, actually, Amaranth just finished playing with the mirrors he got during the Quidditch Cup." She produced a leather-wrapped, hand-sized mirror and handed it to him. "Say the name of who you want to contact, and you'll be put through to their's. I think he's given them to… Green, Louis, Andrew, Lyall, myself, Thomas, and… someone else. Probably a few random names as well, but I don't think he's kept any himself. I'll check."

Alan turned it over in his hands and smiled. "Yeah, that's good. Thanks."

She kissed him on the forehead and turned, her face changing easily to a glare. "Is that everything for you, Mr Dumbledore?"

"That satisfies my questions this evening. If I have other questions, should I ask for you, or your son?"

"Make sure it's Louis. I don't like questions about Sophia. She was a decent woman, but she exploited her weaknesses more than her strengths. I may not have liked her, but I won't hear ill." She glanced his way, her expression awkward. "I raised her son out of duty more than anything else – knowing her, he would have had so many problems it almost wasn't worth it. But he's turned out to be a fine, brilliant boy, and I won't see you dragging him down because you want to exploit some trick of his birth some woman thought she saw."

She stepped into the fireplace and flooed away, leaving without looking back. Alan kept his face carefully blank, even as his professors turned to him with cautious eyes. "Is that everything, sir?" he asked, trying to duck beneath Severus' shoulder.

"I believe it is," the Headmaster answered softly. "Severus, did you know about this?"

He shook his head. "It seems, Albus, that while you were convincing yourself the boy in the prophecy was Potter… _my_ son was keeping secrets."

Alan looked up to him in surprise. Severus had never called him his son in front of anyone – he'd barely acknowledged it even in private. He wasn't watching the other reactions, though he saw Dumbledore's face soften out of the corner of his eye.

"So it seems." Dumbledore rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, "If you would like to return to your dorm, or… to your father's quarters, Alan, I have no objections. If there is anything you need, or any questions you have yourself, feel free to come to me with them. The password should not change for a few months, and you can ask your father, if you need it at a later point."

Alan nodded curtly and turned to walk out the door. He didn't want to face them with Philana's words hanging in the air. He had never been sure how he felt about his aunt. She loved him, he was sure of that, but... She had never been a good mother to her own children, much less him. Even Louis said that. Oftentimes, he wasn't sure how much she separated him from her memories – whatever they were – of her sister.

And that had never been a really good thing.

He moved quickly towards his father's quarters and cursed himself under his breath. Now he needed to get a hold of Harry. He had a lot to explain to him too. He wasn't sure how much he could: he didn't really know the 'why' of his entrance himself.

IIII

Harry was twitching all morning. Everywhere he stepped, someone was talking about Alan; everywhere he looked, people had their heads together, and they didn't look happy. Every word from their lips was about Alan, every look was searching for him in the halls. Harry hadn't seen him at breakfast, but he'd heard that he was present in his classes: there for Herbology from a Ravenclaw, heading into Arithmancy from a Hufflepuff who left late – there at lunch with his coterie, something Harry could see for himself.

Neville hadn't missed his tension, but he seemed to assume it was self-righteous anger like everyone else had: how _dare_ the school champion be a Slytherin, after all, much less a cheating one. How _dare_ that upstart boy be selected over half the of-age students in the school?

Harry didn't really care. He just wanted to know _why_ his name had been in there, and _how_ he'd been selected, and _what the Hell was going on._

He watched Alan leave the hall with an escort of his friends, and he ground his teeth in anger.

"Harry, don't attack him in Potions, please," Neville begged. "Severus will _murder_ you."

"I'm not _stupid,_" Harry snapped, grabbing his bag. "But I'm going to get some answers."

He sat through all of Potions with that in mind, almost failing the lesson because of his inattention. When the class let out, Harry ushered Neville on to his Enchantments class with a reassurance and a glare. He stepped outside and waited in a niche down the dungeon hallway, conjuring a snake from the spell he'd found in one of the books from Grimmauld Place – one he'd seen used before: _Serpensortia._

Alan noticed the creature on the floor and pulled free from his friends, bending and waving them on as he retied his shoe. Alan waited for the hall to clear, and then followed the snake back to Harry. His face was tight with apprehension.

"Hello, Harry."

"Alan." Harry nodded. "What happened?"

"Someone's trying to off me indirectly." Alan shrugged. "I didn't do it."

"Why?"

His friend sighed and ran a hand over the back of his neck. He hissed softly, "Meet me later, Thursday evening? In the Chamber. It's sensitive."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "You'd better be there, Alan."

"I will be." He nodded. "I will be."

Harry trotted upstairs – Alan may have a free period, but he didn't. He darted into Meditations with a pinch: "Sorry, Professor Zen."

"You're late," he observed curtly. "You're never late, Potter. Something is bothering you. Sit down, put it aside, and listen."

Harry dropped onto a cushion next to Su Li and Quinn Rivers, dumping his bag with relief. It took him less than five minutes to feel a lot calmer, a lot more accepting of Alan's problems. Whatever they were, he knew his friend could handle it, and he'd be there if he needed him.

Nothing else mattered. They would pull through, and they would still be friends. That was how he wanted it to be, and that was how it would be.

Simple. Easy. He could sort it out in his mind in class as Professor Zen waited for them all to be receptive. The class of thirteen had been whittled down to seven: four students removed in the first month (including Hermione) and two quitting – Alan being one of them. Now, the remainder used the class to calm down, to be quiet, and learn. No distractions, no complaints.

He loved Meditations.

IIII

Their meeting wound up cancelled – Alan received a detention for fighting with Malfoy – but Meditations had put his mind at ease and renewed his patience. Still, the answers he did get when they came had floated through his mind and kept him awake all night long until Binns put him to sleep in History Friday morning.

Alan was the boy of prophecy. Not him: Alan.

Harry wasn't sure that was much of an improvement. The weight that had sat on his shoulders, the worry he'd had for two years was gone – and now a new one had replaced it. What kind of hero would Alan be? As far as he knew, Alan didn't want to be a hero. He just struck him as a kid, another teenager. So what if he was powerful and charismatic? He was a Slytherin; what other kind of Slytherin was there?

Harry snorted, remembering Malfoy and correcting himself: Slytherins, like Gryffindors, came in many flavours.

Neville pinched his shoulder for the second time that class, and Harry yawned, pulling his head up and putting his book away as Binns droned on through the bell at the end of the lesson. Professor Binns looked up in surprise, and all the students left whether he'd dismissed them or not. Sometimes he forgot to do so.

"You're dog tired, Harry," Neville groused. "What gives?"

"Up late last night, thinking." Harry yawned again, stretching to wake himself up: he had Charms next, and that actually required his attention.

Neville opened his mouth to ask again and stopped, walking silently into Charms beside him and taking the seat next to him. Harry frowned at the change: Neville had been keeping company with Hermione for the past two months, not him. He shrugged at Ron, who reluctantly took the seat Neville had left vacant, and they returned their attention to Charms class.

It was Summoning Charms – a piece of cake for him and Neville. Hermione picked up on it quickly, and between the three of them, Ron managed a wobbly success before they were released to lunch – and the forbidding promise of Double Potions that afternoon. Harry was somewhat nervous – the last time he'd seen Alan and Malfoy in a room, they'd sent each other into the hospital wing, and gotten what Alan had reported as a thorough lecture on the 'united face of Slytherin'.

Which Alan had promptly ignored.

As they approached the classroom after lunch, it seemed Malfoy hadn't cared much either.

"You're such an attention whore, Prince."

Harry stiffened; putting a hand quickly on Neville's shoulder, certain –

He dropped, catching Ron's sleeve and pulling him down with him as two spells raced overhead in quick succession. Neville did the same to Hermione, but too late – she shrieked, her hand going straight to her mouth. Harry straightened and shielded their group as two more spells came towards the incoming Gryffindors. Alan and Malfoy were circling each other aggressively, and the Slytherins had scattered.

The assault didn't last long. Severus stormed down the hall and snarled, "_Enough_! Alan, Draco, both of you hand over your wands and go through to my office immediately. Anyone caught in the crossfire, come here."

Harry dropped the shield and turned, immediately shutting his mouth as he saw Hermione's condition. Her front teeth were crawling down to the neck of her shirt, and she was whimpering as she attempted vainly to cover them up. Harry grimaced, and asked,

"No one else was hit?"

The Gryffindors behind them shook their heads, some staring, some not. Reassured he didn't have to stick his neck out for anyone else, he grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her despite her protests up to Severus Snape.

There were a lot more Slytherin casualties to be treated, but the professor easily countered most. A break opened, and Harry stepped forward and spoke as calmly as possible.

"Professor, Hermione was caught with a teeth-growing spell." The man looked, sneered and opened his mouth with vitriol plain on his face. Harry cut him off, "You said we should bring you any collateral damage, sir, if they'd been caught by Prince and Malfoy's fight."

Snape grimaced. "Come here, then, Miss Granger, and let me see." Hermione cautiously stepped forward, but didn't remove her hands. Harry moved to put himself between the majority of the Slytherins and her, pulling them down himself. Hermione's teeth were even larger, and still growing.

Severus sighed. "I can't fix this here; Potter, escort her to Madam Pomfrey." He gave him a hard look. "I expect you back in class in ten minutes."

Harry glared, but he led Hermione back up the hall, catching her bag as he went by. Neville picked up his for him and went inside. Ten minutes was far too little time, but he'd be damned if he didn't manage it.

He did succeed, arriving out of breath as he hauled the door open and eased it closed behind him. Severus was absent, and Colin Creevey was bouncing on the balls of his feet at the front, plainly waiting for the teacher. Taking the seat next to Neville, Harry looked the question at him.

His friend leaned over to answer quietly, "He's here for Alan. Something about a ceremony and a photo shoot for the champions."

Harry grimaced; now he really wasn't looking forward to class.

Not two minutes later, the door to Professor Snape's office slammed open and Malfoy and Alan strode out, followed by a thunderous Severus. Upon seeing Colin, his anger seized the target.

"What do you want?"

Proving he was a Gryffindor, Colin spoke calmly despite his trembling knees. There was only a small squeak to his voice. "Sir, I was sent to bring Alan Prince to the wand-weighing ceremony for the school champions."

"Prince has a class to attend. Surely it can wait."

"I was said to bring him immediately…"

"Fine. Leave your things here, Prince."

"He needs to bring his stuff with him…" Colin was seriously shaking now, but Harry felt no sympathy. Across the room, Alan pulled his head up from his desk and slammed his books back into his bag. Harry caught his eye and quickly leaned to put his things on his desk, ignoring the sick anger in his stomach on his behalf.

Without waiting for Severus to stop glaring a hole in Colin's head, Alan stood and jerked his head at the trembling Gryffindor. He led the way out, slipping past Harry with a glare for the stupidity of his housemates as his hand slid over the edge of his desk and lifted Harry's wand from the surface. Colin raced out after him, eager to be away, and the door closed behind them with a final thud.

Harry leaned back to his bag without acknowledging the theft, shuffling through it before wincing as he realized he didn't have his ash wand on him. He hadn't thought Alan would want to borrow his wand so soon. They'd talked about it in the Chamber, Alan curious about its properties and Harry more interested in ensuring Alan's safety. Harry looked warily back to the front of the class: Snape's face was murderous.

This was not going to be a fun class.

"Antidotes!" he barked. "You should have all prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then we will be selecting someone on whom to test one…"

Shit. Maybe Neville would let him borrow his... if he could explain...

* * *

A/N: Well, here's a two-chapter update at the end of the month. Things are not looking solid yet, so the hiatus is still on until probably February or March.  
I will check back in around the beginning of January, but don't count me as dead if I don't.

Thank you to all who are still following and reading.

Please review,  
Fire & Napalm


	20. Chapter 20

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Twenty**:

Alan only let Creevey lead once he was calm enough not to hex him from behind. The boy looked like he was about to pour questions upon him, but one well-placed glare halted Creevey's mouth mid-question. Creevey sheepishly pointed out the room in question, and Alan slammed inside, cutting off any possible questions as curtly as possible. He glared around the room.

The school Heads, Mr Bagman, and Mr Templar sat behind a row of desks lined against the far wall, Bagman speaking to a witch dressed in brilliant magenta robes. In a corner, Krum sulked alone and Fleur stood by the door, shooting annoyed glances Krum's direction. Another man to the side held a smoking camera and watched Fleur covetously, the most likely cause of her upset.

Mr Bagman turned and smiled brightly, a smile that only faltered a moment at Alan's scowl. "Wonderful!" He beamed. "We were thinking you'd never make it, Alan."

"Call me Prince, sir," Alan bit out. Bagman was unmoved, but Mr Templar coughed lightly into his hand, smothering a smile. Mr Templar tapped Bagman on the shoulder, then stood himself.

"If you'll forgive Mr Bagman, Mr Prince," He smiled with the hopes of reassuring him, but Alan was in too foul a mood to care, "we're here to conduct the wand-weighing ceremony, to ensure all three of you have your wands in top working order."

"My wand is fine," Alan snapped. "I don't need you and yours to tell me that, Mr Templar. May I please go?."

Mr Templar's smile faded and he shook his head apologetically, leaning back into his seat. Dumbledore stood in his stead, and gently tapped the desk. Alan moved out of the direct path to the door and leaned against the wall beside it, opposite where Fleur had been pouting. As Dumbledore drew their attention, the Beauxbatons' champion straightened and stepped forward. Krum remained stationary, merely turning to watch the proceedings as Alan did. Dumbledore seemed unaware of the hostility in the champions and continued with a bright smile.

"May I introduce Mr Ollivander?" Dumbledore began. "He will be checking your wands to ensure they are in good condition before the tournament."

Alan scanned the room again and felt a muscle in his eye twitch as he suddenly spotted him by the window: Alan was sure no one had been there. Mr Ollivander was a pale man, with large eyes and a small build. He was the one who had sold Harry his wand. Alan fingered the holly wand next to his own and frowned, still determined to have it checked as well, despite his bravado.

Ollivander stepped from the wall and further into the room, running his eyes calmly across the three champions. "Mademoiselle Delacour, if we could have you forward first please?" He was now in the centre of the room, and, at her name, Fleur swept forward to hand over her wand. Ollivander took it delicately and twirled it between his fingers. The wand emitted a number of pink and gold sparks before Ollivander brought it up to his face and looked it over meticulously.

"Yes," He murmured, "nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood, containing… dear me…"

"A hair from the head of a veela." Fleur said proudly. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

"Yes, of course. I've never used veela hair myself; I find it makes for rather temperamental wands. However, if it suits you, it's often best. The whole purpose of the tool…"

Ollivander ran his hands down the length of the wood, checking for nicks or bumps, and then he tapped it against his palm, muttered '_Orchideus'_, and a bouquet of flowers appeared from the end. Ollivander smiled faintly, bundled the flowers together and handed them to Fleur as he dismissed her with a calm, "Fine working order, indeed. Mr Krum, you next please."

Krum slouched forward and thrust his wand into Ollivander's grasp, standing sullenly beside him with his hands thrust into his pockets. Ollivander took the wand with the same delicacy he'd grasped Fleur's and quickly looked it over.

"Hmmm, this is a Gregorovitch creation if I'm not mistaken. A fine wandmaker, but the styling is never quite… however, yes…" He lifted the wand to his eye-level and looked it over with his fine attention to detail. "Hornbeam and dragon heartstring, yes…" his eyes slid to Krum and then back to his wand. "Rather thicker than one usually sees… quite rigid… ten and a quarter inches… _Avis_."

The wand blasted like a gun, and a bunch of small twittering birds flew from the resultant smoke and into the watery sunlight.

"Good." Ollivander said with relish. He then fixed Alan with his strange gaze. "Mr Prince, then?"

Alan pushed off the wall and stalked over to him. Once there, he pulled his wand from his wrist and handed it to him handle first. Ollivander reached, paused, then grasped it carefully. "If you also have a second wand, Mr Prince, I would like to look that over as well."

Alan smiled. "Yes, I do have one I would like you to look over."

Mr Templar cleared his throat for their attention once more. Alan glanced over, and Mr Templar smiled, "While I will not begin on the questionable legality of a youth possessing a second wand, I will state that you will only be allowed one in the first task itself."

Alan gave him a nod, and he turned back to watch the wandmaker's attention drift to the length of wood before him. "An American wood, redwood. Eleven inches, inflexible… your core…"

"Jabberwocky tongue." Alan drawled. "It's from the midwestern states."

The silence in the room was rewarding. A jabberwocky was the only large magical predator in America, and it was nearly as vicious as a dragon, poisonous – and more than a little psychotic. At one point, Thomas had compared the one he'd gotten the tongue from to the Quintelyuv triplets. Nobody had argued.

Ollivander merely glanced at him before nodding and returning to his examination. "Yes, jabberwocky tongue indeed." He shot him a frown as he saw a small spattering of pockmarks on one end, and a few burns, but he finally just sighed and gave the wand a subtle twitch. A piercing whistle rang out, and Ollivander dropped the wand. Alan dropped and caught it, sighing.

"Sorry, I forgot Louis let Amaranth have it last summer. He'll do just about anything to whatever comes into his hands."

Ollivander held his hand out again for a moment and ran his fingers over the wood once more. He frowned, then his face relaxed as he tapped the wood twice with one finger. Waving the wand again, he conjured an illusion of a gambolling cat before handing it back.

"The wand and its enchantment are fine; I merely disabled it for a moment. May I see your second wand?"

Alan felt a twinge as he handed over Harry's wand, waiting… Mr Ollivander, however, said nothing, merely giving him a short look before speaking the qualities to himself and then conjuring silver bubbles from the end. He handed it back within moments, but did not let go as Alan grasped it in turn. His expression was dead serious.

"I would never have expected such friends, Mr Prince." He spoke in an undertone, his wide, pale eyes locked on his face. Alan winced; he's hoped Mr Ollivander would not have recognized the wand, but the pale skin should have been a dead giveaway. Mr Ollivander blinked once, then smiled. "You have a valuable trust built up with an exceptional young man. Take care."

Alan didn't think he meant during the trials. Pocketing the holly and phoenix feather wand, Alan nodded tersely and then glanced up to find the predatory woman in magenta and her seedy photographer staring at him. Dumbledore seemed prepared to simply dismiss them, but Bagman stood before Alan could take advantage of it. The demanded photos were arranged and taken with much furor and stress, but when they were finally released he still didn't get peace.

A red-nailed hand closed on his shoulder and Alan turned his dark eyes to the blonde reporter with a blank expression. He looked an inch or so up into her eyes and wished he could be taller already.

"Mr Prince?" She oozed. "Might I take a moment of your time?"

Alan looked her over once more and immediately felt suspicious. "I don't talk to reporters, ma'am."

"I'm Rita Skeeter, from the Daily Prophet." She elaborated, apparently unconcerned with his response. "Your comments on this tournament would be greatly appreciated. The underage champion; how you got in; your classes with your father, Severus Snape – is there any favouritism involved?"

Alan stared at her face as she spoke and knew he'd felt safer in a room with Green and his brother Amaranth – the two brothers notorious for blowing themselves up.

Hell, he'd have taken a jabberwocky over her.

"Ms Skeeter." Alan bit off. "I'm not speaking to reporters. I'm going to supper. Leave. Me. Be." He pulled his shoulder free with difficultly and stalked out the door, walking quickly down the hall to leave the rabid woman behind.

Alan was practically delighted to see Harry at the door to the Great Hall. He was looking forward to getting in his face, eager for some action that he knew what was going on. All he had to do was return Harry's wand, and then...

His friend was standing, his face held high as he scanned the crowds coming into the hall. Alan moved to stroll past him without a sideways glance, only to be stopped by his friend's hard shove to his shoulder. Alan stopped and glared at him.

"What the Hell do you want, Potter?"

"I believe you have something of mine." Harry retorted. "You grabbed it on your way out."

"That book was mine to begin with." He sneered.

Harry's eyes flashed. Alan smiled softly, and got right into his face, barely three inches apart.

"What?" Alan growled, suddenly uncomfortable with their proximity. He did not want a repeat of last year. "You gonna make something of it?" He glanced to the right, hoping Harry caught on where his wand was.

Harry shoved him away, hands on his stomach – the disparate height helped, as he had two inches on his friend and the angle was easiest. Harry's wand was in his hand as he raised it and hurled the first curse. Alan replied in kind – the fight rushing through his blood, cleansing the acrid smell of the photographer's smoke and bringing him back to where he wanted to be.

"That – is – enough!"

Alan froze in place, eyes wide. Harry's voice died in mid-curse, backing up to the doors and trying to melt away, his own eyes bright and wide. Dumbledore stormed down the stairs with fire in his eyes, and looked harshly between them.

"I will see you two in my office immediately. Follow me."

Cringing inside, Alan obeyed, following the Headmaster as he shouldered his bag and stalked up the stairs past the steel-eyed reporter and her racing quill, Harry on his heels. Alan was dreading a conversation like the last time he'd been up there, but surely their fighting hadn't gotten that bad. What warranted the Headmaster's own intervention?

A glance back proved Harry was as unhappy as he was.

They followed him past the candy-active gargoyle and up the revolving stairs, keeping five feet between each other at all times. Alan came into the office with a frown that turned to puzzlement: a red bird was perched majestically on the perch that had been empty the last time he was in here. Curious, he approached, only to twitch backwards as Dumbledore, in a surprisingly calm voice, offered,

"That is Fawkes, my familiar."

"Is he a phoenix?" Alan asked.

"Yes."

Alan blinked. Harry had told him the core of his wand had come from a phoenix named Fawkes – but it wasn't a question he could ask, not here. He turned back to Dumbledore, deliberately ignoring Harry. As far as Alan could tell, Harry was doing the same.

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore began, "is there anything in particular that sparked your current fight with Mr Prince?"

Harry shook his head briskly.

"Nothing?" Dumbledore asked again, and then gently rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Harry, there is something I believe that has occurred to you in the past few months. I believe you are aware of the prophecy?"

Harry stiffened, looking quickly between his Headmaster and Alan. Alan could sympathize – he wouldn't have wanted that brought up either. Abruptly, he realized he should be aggressive as well – did he really want his rival to know about this? Hell, would he want _Malfoy_ told?

That brought his features to the right level of panic as Dumbledore's perceptive eyes swept over them.

"You both feel a rivalry – I am not telling you to become friends, but both of you are subject to the same prophecy regarding the Dark Lord Voldemort. It is that reason, Harry, that it appears Alan Prince has been entered in the Tournament – in an attempt to put him in over his head.

"His name came out overtop all the seventh years in school!" Harry snarled. "Don't tell me he's that much better than everyone else! I kicked his ass last year!"

"I didn't lose every time, Potter," Alan drawled.

"And be that as it may," Dumbledore continued over them, "we have no evidence to say whether or not his name was entered alone of the now _three_ possibilities for the prophecy."

"Three?" Alan asked, as though he didn't already know.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "It is only boys born at the end of July that constitute the prophecy – boys born to parents who have defied him. There are three who fit: Yourself, Alan; Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Three boys powerful," He swept his gaze from one to the other, "skilled, and driven."

He sighed and sank back in his chair. "I understand you both desire to prove yourselves and rub each other the wrong way, but I can only ask that you please do not initiate hostilities at this time. It would be best for you to focus both on your schoolwork, Harry, and to allow Prince to prepare himself for the rigours of the tournament he has been forced to undergo.

"If I must, I will enact severe penalties to drive this point home. Please, go your separate ways for this time." His blue eyes were like ice. "You may return to supper, Harry. Alan, please wait a moment."

Alan didn't watch Harry go, though he wanted to, to shrug and say, what can we do? But it would be good: he didn't need to be fielding detentions when he had this much homework and the tournament to prepare for. Now, he had a rock solid excuse to maintain the rivalry without any overt action.

He really did not want to know what detention with Dumbledore would be like.

"How do you feel about the first task, Alan?" He asked.

Alan blinked. "I'm not allowed to accept help, sir."

"I am not offering any. I merely wish to know how you are holding up, and to offer you this." He finished a short note with a flourish and handed it to him. "It is an unlimited pass into the Restricted Section of the library." The Headmaster hesitated, and then sighed, "I hope you will use it wisely to enhance your knowledge for this year."

Alan accepted it hesitantly. "Thank you, sir…"

"Do not abuse this, Alan."

"I won't, sir." He shook his head vehemently. "I've seen what some restricted spells can do. I have no interest to try them myself."

Dumbledore nodded sadly and waved him to the door. "Then go enjoy supper, Alan… and good luck."

IIII

The first task seemed to be racing towards them and for Harry, the Hogsmeade weekend before it was a welcome relief – but still nowhere near as enjoyable as it might have been. Alan had told him he wasn't going – he was raiding the Restricted Section of the library again. While Madam Pince had argued Severus' note, she couldn't very well argue Dumbledore's.

It was a chore to look cheerful for Ron and Hermione – Neville wasn't buying it, so the show wasn't for him. They wouldn't believe his short-term excuse of being upset at having to 'respect the stupid Slytherin just because he'd have a hard time'. He hadn't even liked using it himself, but he had to tell them something about being hauled away by Dumbledore.

He still hadn't shared the true reason with Neville, even though he had a right to it, and an acceptable source. What did it matter? Except… someone was out to kill the boys of the prophecy. Unless, of course, Alan had been chosen deliberately…

Neville was strangely amenable to his silence, helping keep Ron and Hermione from asking too many uncomfortable questions and finally driving them into the Three Broomsticks. They had been sitting in a quiet, meaningless conversation for about twenty minutes when Hagrid came trundling in. He glanced around, and, seeing Harry, came over and smiled.

"Harry!" He slapped him on the back, knocking him into the table as he leaned down and added in a whisper. "Come to my hut at eleven tonight; I want to show you something. You'll love it." Straightening, he continued, "What's your weekend doin', then?"

Neville patted him on the shoulder as Harry tried to get his breath back, and answered in his stead. "We're just hanging out. We've got a load of homework piled on us. Did you come down for a butterbeer?"

"Yeah." He looked away, suddenly guilty-looking.

"Good to hear." Harry swallowed, and smiled. "I'll have to come visit you for tea or something when I find the time."

"That'd be great." Hagrid beamed. "It's getting cold, though, so remember your _cloak_."

The emphasis was unmistakeable, and Harry winced, nodding and smiling anyways. Hopefully everyone would just chalk it up to Hagrid's eccentricity. Waving Hagrid out, he waited until he was gone before he put his head in his hands.

"I think a pixie is taking a hatchet to the inside of my skull."

"You're stressed, Harry." Neville said. "Go figure. What do you think Hagrid wants, and what would you need your cloak for?"

Ron and Hermione were watching with amusement as Harry turned and gave Neville a one-finger salute; his friend was completely unaffected.

"Fine." Harry groused. "How much you want to bet we'll be seeing Charlie when we go? He looked that excited."

Neville brightened considerably. "No way! They wouldn't – dad said they had to bring a bunch of things in. Damn, I wonder what all we'll see." His eyes were glazed with excitement. While Harry was the fan of magical creatures in general, Neville was almost as bad as Hagrid when it came to dragons.

He was definitely going to have company now.

IIII

"Holy," Neville breathed, dropping back onto his bed. Harry and he had just returned, and Harry hissed at his friend to be quiet. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work; Harry sat back on his own bed and accepted it, still a little psyched from the trip through the forest: memories of acromantula were making his arms shiver, even as shallowly as they had entered.

"Dragons, Harry!" Neville laughed, his voice soft. "We get to see them go up against _dragons_! I can't wait to see who gets the Horntail!"

Harry's grin wilted slightly. "That's going to be a ruddy mess, the champions won't know what hit them."

Neville propped himself on his elbows and eyed him. "Harry, the teachers know what could go wrong; there will be safeguards, from the dragon handlers to Dumbledore himself. The champions will be fine." Neville made a face, and lowered his voice to a whisper, "Stop worrying about Prince. He'll probably scare the dragon off just by glaring at it."

Harry nearly jerked off his bed before he regained his composure enough to make a disgusted face at Neville. His friend, however, was right: Alan probably would glare at the dragon, whether it worked or not. He swallowed, watching to see where Neville would go after saying that. Neville's face, however, was unreadable, and after no more words were exchanged, Neville crawled over his bed and doused the light.

After a few more minutes, as they both changed in the dark, Harry went to poke around until he found Neville's shoulder under his blankets.

"Brother," He whispered. They hadn't used that endearment for years… Not since they'd come to Hogwarts, he didn't think. Too long, whatever it was. "I'll be fine, brother. I'm just worried. That's all."

Neville was silent for a long moment, but as Harry lifted his hand to leave, Neville caught it with his own. Moonlight glinted off his eye, and he smiled. "I know… brother. Go to bed already."

IIII

Alan had his feet up at a random table in the library, a dusty book with a large metal padlock from the Restricted section draped across his lap. Someone cleared their throat awkwardly nearby. He glanced up and grinned at Harry.

"Hey, what's got your face looking so down?"

His friend looked at him, and then to the side. Alan shut the book firmly and dropped his feet. Harry looked strangely serious. He waited, opting not to ask even as his shoulders itched. Harry was already uncomfortable enough…

"Alan, I saw…" Harry was speaking unusually quietly, even for the library. "Hagrid took me and Neville down to see what they brought in for the first task last night. It's dragons."

Alan felt like his blood had frozen. "Dragons?" His voice somehow approximated normal. He could handle this, he knew it. "What kind of dragons, do you know?"

"Swedish Short Snout, Chinese Fireball, and a Hungarian Horntail."

Alan closed his eyes and shook his head once more. This was much worse than he'd expected.

"I don't think you have to fight them or anything. Charlie, one of the handlers that came with them, commented that they were all nesting mothers."

Alan turned to smile at Harry, running the potential situation through his head as he tapped the book on the table and stood. "I need to go talk to a few people. See you Harry." He was at the shelves before he caught up with himself, and turned back to say, "Thank you."

He walked quickly through the halls, the book forgotten in his arms even as he broke into a light run to get down to his father's quarters. He slowed only occasionally for a Prefect or teacher, until he hit his father's door and slipped inside. Alan looked up and blinked.

"Hello Alan," Louis called from the sofa across the room. "I heard your first hurdle was coming up."

Alan leaned the door shut and smiled with relief. "Yeah, it is. Five days."

His father snorted from the armchair by the fireplace, his nose tucked in a book even as his eyes watched him from under his heavy brow.

Louis straightened in his seat. "Alan, what is it?"

"Dragons," Alan said. "The first task is dragons."

"You can't have to kill them, that takes five grown men and is illegal besides. A race would be suicidal…" Louis frowned. "What on earth could you be doing?"

"My best guess is something about getting past them. They're all nesting mothers."

"I believe you weren't supposed to learn what you faced until the day of," Severus snidely observed.

Alan snorted. "I wouldn't be much of a Slytherin if I didn't take every advantage I got. Louis, what do you remember of the Jabberwocky hunt Green went on… what, seven years back?"

"Five," Louis corrected, sighing. "A jabberwocky and a dragon are two different things, Alan. Hell, a jabberwocky isn't even half the strength of a dragon."

"One's a Chinese Fireball. They're physically similar to a jabberwocky. If I can tether it like Thomas did, I might have something – if I can keep it from touching me, I'm good."

"A fireball doesn't have the greatest reach with its flames. What are the others?" Louis tapped his chin.

"Swedish Short Snout, and Hungarian Horntail."

Louis dropped his head into his hands. "Alan, you have the strangest problems. First you need Occlumency, now you need dragon taming. What next, are you going to try for your Sorcerer Mastery? It's about the next step up if we keep that incline going."

Alan snorted. "You're twenty-eight and you're still a Journeyman. No thanks. Just get me that spell, I need to learn it."

"You could also-"

"No." Alan shook his head, grinning. "I don't want to take help if I can't name it myself. Not until the day before, unless you're _really_ convinced I'm going kick the bucket in this."

Louis rubbed his chin and looked sidelong at Severus. "I'm comfortable with your knowledge so far. I'm going to be present, so barring a terrible accident… Severus?"

"Let me see that book," Severus asked.

Alan blinked, handing over the forgotten book. Severus looked over the lock and spine before handing it back. It was a treatise on power levels, and the accompanying adjustments for spells – and a few destructive and defensive spells tailored to each level. Alan quickly tried to recall the last shield he'd read. Severus stared at him, his face unreadable.

"I think you'll do fine."

Alan accepted the book back and dropped onto the couch to find that shield again. If it was strong enough to withstand dragon fire...

IIII

It was a long week leading up to Thursday and the first task. Alan spent most of it reading, skipping meals and taking them while he was working, usually in Severus' private rooms – reading, practising, going over the spells and contingencies again and again as though he could predict what he would have to do. He was crossing his fingers he would get the Chinese Fireball – it was what he would be most confident in avoiding.

Alan watched Harry the rare times he was in the Great Hall, and didn't like how nervous his friend looked. He was going to have to tease him about wearing his emotions on his sleeve sometime when he wasn't working hard not to do the same.

Everyone in the Slytherin common room was watching him as well, even his own friends. The scrutiny was driving him crazy. Two girls had actually propositioned him to 'take some of his stress away'. All he'd been able to do was shake his head and move away as quickly as was decent.

He survived Defence the morning of the task, barely hearing anything Moody was saying and mostly twitching his wand as he tried to feel out the spells he would have to use, to think if there was anything he hadn't taken into consideration. Alan prayed the second task wouldn't be for a good while, otherwise he wouldn't learn _anything _this year.

Alan sat down for lunch with his mind still aflutter. When his father tapped his shoulder and motioned for him to follow he barely spared a thought to wave at his Slytherin friends before he was walking in his father's steps and finally his mind went blank, Occlumency training kicking in as he moved into being ready to not look too jaded about the task when it came.

They went around the edge of the forest to a cluster of trees. Just beyond, a tent had been erected, the entrance facing them and a large stand just beyond.

"You will wait in here with the other champions," Severus said. "Mr Bagman will instruct you on what the procedure is, then you will enter the stand when it is your turn. Do you understand?"

"Yes, thank you." Alan nodded, and slipped inside.

Across the tent, Fleur was seated on a low stool looking much less composed than she had before. Viktor had planted himself as well, looking surly and unpleasant – likely his nerves showing through as well. Alan found a place and stood, feet together, hands in his pockets as he waited as well. He wasn't composed enough, however, as Mr Bagman's greeting made him jump into a more ready stance than he had been.

The Ministry Head of games and sports looked quite a bit like a cartoon in his ill-fitting black and yellow Quidditch robes, and he beamed around at them all.

"Well, now we're all here – Time to fill you in." He said brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag," He held up a small purple silk bag and shook it enticingly, "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face. There are different – er – varieties, you see." Alan snorted. "And I have to tell you one more thing … ah, yes … Your task is to _collect the golden egg_!"

Alan struggled to neither laugh, nor sigh with relief. He could collect an item, easy. All he had to do was distract the dragon, not defeat it. He swallowed. Now, if he could just get the Chinese Fireball…

Bagman left them each to their thoughts, and it seemed like no time at all before there was the sound of many feet passing the tent towards the stands, preparing to watch them risk their lives. Alan started pacing, thinking… What was Blaise thinking now? He'd been irate that Alan wasn't more excited, and irate he wouldn't tell him why, either. Daphne had nearly worried herself to pieces; Tracey had been hexed when she wouldn't stop trying to suggest things for him to try. Salvador had kept to himself – he was pulling back, and so was Lucille, both of them waiting on his reactions.

Alan stopped and tilted his head back. Harry had reacted almost worse than Daphne. Plainly he was stressed, and he was showing it. Alan hoped he wasn't justified. It had almost been easier to take it calmly when he saw Harry so worried: no need for both of them to freak out. Better to just prepare…

"Ladies first," Bagman announced.

Alan glanced back over from his morose, watching as Fleur dipped her hand into the open neck of the purple sack – and pulled out a red model of the Chinese Fireball, the number 'one' around its neck. Alan swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists. He was screwed. He was so screwed.

Fleur wasn't surprised to see it. Alan almost smiled: she'd known. He wasn't the only cheater in the room.

The purple bag was thrust in front of him, and Alan steeled himself to reach inside, hoping the little models didn't bite. His hand skipped over a set of wings, and caught a sharp, spiky little tail. He pulled it out quickly and dropped it into his other palm. The black dragon lashed its tail over his spread fingers and bared its sharp little teeth at him. Alan grimaced.

"Great, it _does_ bite."

Bagman chuckled. "The Hungarian Horntail." He beamed, turning after a moment to hurriedly produce the bag for Viktor to pull out the blue-grey Swedish Short Snout – with the number two. Alan was last, the number three hanging precariously off the model's neck.

"Well there you are!" Bagman said. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Miss Delacour, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now… Alan… could I have a quick word outside?"

Alan blinked, "I don't believe so, sir. You're only supposed to give the champions instructions. If you need to talk to me privately, I'm sure it could've been arranged before now, or after. I need to concentrate."

Bagman looked disappointed, but Alan was solid on his stance. He wasn't going anywhere alone with someone he didn't know – he wouldn't have done it years ago, and he sure as Hell wasn't doing it now – not when he had far more reason, and his mind so busy he couldn't concentrate at all.

Bagman went out of the tent less than a minute before the whistle sounded. Fleur stepped out looking ready to fall apart, shaking head to toe. Alan silently watched her leave to the mercy of the loud, raucous crowd that gasped and cried out enough to make Alan want to shove his fingers in his ears and block both it, and the sounds of Bagman's taunting commentary.

Standing, he began to pace the inside of the tent, thinking, trying to wrap his mind around what he was facing. The Horntail… What did he know about the Horntail? He'd focused too much on the Chinese Fireball: he didn't know anything. He knew it was dangerous, a large dragon with a spiked tail. He held up the model and tried to discern what to do with it.

His biggest problem the model couldn't show: the fire. He didn't know what its range was, he just didn't know and that could kill him. He had learned a long time ago how much burns hurt, and how disgusting and dangerous they could be: it was Green's most common injury. While that meant Louis could fix them in minutes, it didn't mean he wanted any – especially since dragon fire was entirely different from a potion spill.

The crowd erupted into applause. Alan halted, staring in the direction it had come from, his mind suddenly blank. The whistle came, Bagman shouting, "And here comes Mr Krum!"

Viktor slouched out and he was alone.

Alan sat down hard on the small stool Fleur had used, running his hands through his hair as he waited… waited for Viktor to finish, waited to put the menagerie of ideas into a solid plan, something he could grasp and use. He'd lived with this – chaos, panic, danger – his whole life, why was this so hard _now_?

He wondered if he could pick Harry or Blaise out of the crowd when he stepped out. Could he find Louis or his father, or would the dragon take up everything?

A fucking _dragon_!

"And – _yes,_ he's got the egg!"

Applause shattered his reverie. Alan waited, his breath stuck in his throat. He would go out, and he would face this: he was born and raised Salem, they didn't run, they didn't cringe from _anything _– even an ear-splitting jabberwocky. If only his problems were just a scream… Could that be replicated?

Alan shook the useless thought out of his mind as the whistle blew. His legs levered him up almost without his decision, he was walking, head high, out of the tent and to the break in the enclosure. He stepped through, and his face had melted into a cocky grin. He could do this: he would, because it just wasn't done. He didn't lose, and he wouldn't lose.

The stands rose around his head, filled with hundreds upon hundreds of faces, blurring unrecognizable with distance and a simple lack of importance as his eyes were drawn to the great black dragon crouched across the arena from him. She was hunkered down over her clutch of eggs, lashing her great spiked tail and gouging the ground around her as she stared malevolently at the invader to her space.

Alan walked a few feet inside the gap, palming his wand discretely. He glanced back at the panel of judges and swallowed. He needed them to see him as confident. He used only subtle motions, first trying to summon the shining gold egg perched on top of the cement-coloured globes piled beneath the Horntails mantled wings. When that didn't work, he tried to find out what was stopping him, or to move it some other way. He stopped – he couldn't waste too much time trying things, he needed to _move_.

If he wanted to move, he wanted that dragon to move too. His original plan for the Fireball would almost work – it _could_ work, he just wasn't sure… Licking his lips, he started to walk slowly around the edge of the enclosure, rolling his lip under as he set up the noisemaker: he hit a rock with it, and it began to rattle and shake, growing louder and louder until it exploded with a sharp, ear-splitting _bang,_ shrapnel scattering across the space and his ears ringing in the aftermath.

The horntail shrieked, leaping off the clutch and diving through the air – straight for him, not the noisemaker. Alan tensed, lowered himself and then sprinted out, putting everything into getting _as far away as possible_, aiming for the nest. The horntail had to land, after all: She managed it far too soon, stopping her momentum and twisting around, her mouth opening.

He turned and lashed his wand out, the complex incantation heavy on his tongue. He got it out, and the steel cable lashed across the distance between them, one end rooting to the ground, the other reaching for the enclosure wall. They hit and stuck, moving to pull taut in the middle: the dragon's neck halfway between the two points. It didn't tighten against her, however: it melted over her neck, wrapping around the length and then sealing together on the far side – or mostly sealing; the spell hadn't taken well, and he didn't know, couldn't check. Alan stumbled, the drain hitting him hard, but he turned and kept running. He hadn't practised nearly enough, not enough for a Horntail; not even enough to have held the Fireball long. It would break, and he'd hear it go: he still had yards to cover to get to the egg.

He felt a gust of heat, and saw the flames lick the wall to his right. Alan didn't look to see why she'd missed. He was gasping for breath, slowing at the foot of the clutch when a sharp _twang_ announced the failure of his cord. He had no time, but he did have height: He pivoted and prayed he was right about the eggshells. His foot caught the golden egg and sent it flying to the far wall. He followed the swing around and dropped to his knees, the shield incantation half-done. He was right to use it: He could see the dragon ready to roast him, racing her way over. He got the spell done just as the torrent of flames washed over his head.

He could hear the screams from the crowd as sweat rolled down his face. The heat… he hadn't stopped all the heat. He needed to get out of there, move… He stood with difficulty, trying to remember … the shield had been too complex to learn properly, it did six different things, but it had claimed to be sufficient to withstand dragon fire and completely undetectable. He almost didn't notice when his hand touched the far wall. He reached down to the egg and plucked it off the ground, waiting to catch his breath, hear the announcement of his success…

The crowd was still staring as the dragon stopped its breath. Alan couldn't think what was wrong – nobody had noticed him. Then he started laughing breathlessly. Undetectable... the spell made _him_ undetectable, not just the shield. They hadn't seen him leave, the dragon hadn't seen him leave; nothing had.

Alan took a deep breath, taking advantage of his anonymity to put on his best face for it. His ankle gave a warning throb, and he dropped the shield, the egg tucked securely under one arm. He caught the eye of Bagman at his announcer's post and whistled, smirking as the screams turned to gasps. He smirked; milking it for all it was worth. He kept his shoulder braced on the wall and hoping his face hadn't turned red from the heat.

He was going to have to read up more on that shield.

IIII

Harry had sat at the front of the stands, eager to see close-up how the champions – how _Alan_ – fared. He'd gotten very little sleep the night before, fretting since Astronomy and nearly sleeping through Transfiguration – one of the worst things he could have done. Neville had chivvied him out, and down to the pitch, where Ron took over, asking questions and speculating until Harry got into the spirit of things.

Neville was lost when he saw the gold-speckled scarlet eggs of the Chinese Fireball, then completely ignored Hermione beside him to stare at its length as it hunched over its eggs protectively. Hermione poked him before it went on for too long, prompting a quiet, but heated argument between them as they waited for the first champion to start.

Fleur Delacour came out, a vision of loveliness – an appellation Harry immediately sought to shake out of his head – and began to sing the dragon to sleep. It worked quite well, except for that fact that the dragon coiled itself around its eggs – atop which lay the golden egg she needed to get. It took her some time and courage to climb over it once she was sure it was asleep, reach the golden egg and get down, twisting her ankle in the process as she tried not to disturb it, despite a snort of hot air that scalded her hand.

She received thirty-four points for it, standing by and listening with orange paste slathered on her burn.

Krum went next, using a well-executed Conjunctivitis curse – the one Harry wished he'd known second year against the basilisk. Harry winced as it crushed some of its real eggs, then shot fire into the barrier five feet in front of their faces. His near-scream wasn't so shameful when he knew that most people within twelve metres had screamed too.

The ten points Karkaroff gave Krum earned him several boos and nasty comments, along with a rude suggestion from Ron. In total, it gave Krum forty points.

They cleaned up after that mess, healing the dragon and mopping up the damaged eggs with a few keepers looking extremely unhappy about it all. In their place went the cement-coloured eggs of the Horntail. Harry held his breath: Alan was next, against the most dangerous of the three dragons.

The whistle sounded, and Harry watched Alan enter, his bearing completely relaxed as far as Harry could tell. Harry's sharp eyes picked out Alan's hand as it palmed his wand, the Slytherin's black gaze fixed on the egg gleaming against its stark background.

"What does he think he's doing, just standing there?" Ron groused. "He needs to get on with it already."

"Hush, Ron, he's trying something." Harry snapped. "Give him a little credit."

Harry caught the motion to the side, and when the snapping and popping started, Harry frowned. Alan had mentioned something that started like that; he'd called it a –"Agh!"

The bang made his ears ring; beside him, Neville was swearing a blue streak, and Ron was too. Hermione had whimpered, her hands locked over her ears. Harry shook it off, and watched Alan as he dashed out from under the dragon's leap, running headlong across the enclosure. Alan turned midway, slowing to finish a spell, the grey metal cord arcing away from him to seal around the neck of the dragon, holding it in place. He kept running, and the dragon twisted and thrashed its neck, breathing fire as close as it could to Alan's retreating heels – missing by only a few feet.

The dragon braced its legs after that and heaved, snapping the cord that disappeared as soon as its integrity gave with a brutal metal sound. She turned and leapt for Alan, who had stopped and spun, kicking the egg off the clutch and dropping to his knees as the fire washed over him.

Harry nearly shot out of his seat, staring, eyes wide and mouth open. Bagman's words summed up what everyone was feeling,

"_Bloody Hell_, he's hit dead-centre! We've got a champion _down_!"

Harry couldn't find any words for his horror. He couldn't believe it, just couldn't believe it. Why'd he drop? Why did Alan drop, why didn't he run? Hesitant, Harry tightened his grip on the rail, then forced himself to let go, hoping against reason he was wrong, that Alan had come out of it alright.

The dragon let up on its fire and continued to stalk forward, strangely apprehensive. As the flames died down… Alan was nowhere in sight. There wasn't any sign of him at the bottom of the clutch, not even a scorch mark on the stone. It... it hadn't been that hot, had it?

A sharp whistle drew everyone's attention, and Bagman swore again.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have our youngest champion as the fastest and sauciest – he's got his egg, and he's out of it in one piece! Let's hear it for Mr Prince!"

Harry sank back in his seat, unable to keep the grin off his face. Alan was receiving a cheer and a curse in equal measure from the stunned and uncomprehending crowd. Alan's skin was flushed, but he was leaning against the enclosure, the egg tucked under one arm and a smug grin plastered across his face.

Harry collapsed into a fit of laughter, relieved and astonished at how damn cocky he was. He knew – he was pretty sure he was the only person Alan had told – that he practised that grin, and used it deliberately to infuriate people. It was working perfectly on Ron.

"That's smarmy, smug bastard!" He cursed. "He just about gets fried and he's acting like its all a bloody joke! How the _Hell_ did he do that?"

Harry didn't even try to answer; he was laughing too hard. He didn't have the first clue how Alan had done it, but he was pretty sure he could get it out of him later on. One thing Harry was sure of was that Alan had done it on purpose: it was just his kind of thing. He was too American _not_ to show off.

The Horntail was subdued, and Alan had waved off both Madame Pomfrey and Louis' concern both, joined shortly by his father. The wear of the spells began to show on his face; it was a subtle change in expression, a tired look: whatever spells Alan had used had been powerful – anything that could restrain a Horntail would have to be. Alan remained leaning against the side of the enclosure, even though he'd stood up on his own once – Harry could tell he was downplaying his exhaustion, pretending he had come out better than he really had. Harry hoped the judges would buy it.

Madame Maxine gave him an eight; Harry resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. Mr Templar gave a ten, and so did Dumbledore and Bagman. Karkaroff, a foul expression on his face, gave him a six, totalling forty-four. Beside Harry, Neville hissed,

"Asswipe. Gave Krum a ten, and managed to mark Prince down to a six. What sort of bloody ninny-hammer…" His mutters began inaudible, probably to his benefit as Hermione frowned his way. Even Neville's mother sometimes frowned upon his insulting creativity.

Harry watched Alan leave with Severus, his cousin's hand on his shoulder. A weight lifted off Harry's chest. Alan could do this. He'd make it through the tournament just fine. He joined Neville, Hermione and Ron as they got up and waited for an opening to leave the stands, eager to get back to the common room: If Harry knew his housemates, they'd throw a party.

Slytherin champion or not, Hogwarts was still in the lead.

As it turned out, the party was more due to Fred and George's entrepreneurial initiative than anything else. The twins brought in all the snacks and food, and the ulterior motive became clear when Neville bit into a custard cream and burst into feather. Harry nearly fell out of his chair when his brother turned into a giant yellow feather duster, but Fred and George immediately shouldered the blame.

"Canary Creams!" Fred announced to the room at large, indicating the silently steaming yellow ball of feathers that had previously been one of the top students of his year. "George and I invented them! Seven sickles each, a bargain!"

The room burst into laughter. Neville soon moulted and eyed the two custards he had left, turning a look on the twins Harry much preferred when it was aimed at anyone other than him. Neville picked them up and approached the twins, who were already getting a few requests as others turned into canaries as well. Hermione watched him suspiciously, but that became interest when Neville loudly asked the two entrepreneurs,

"Hey, do you have to eat these for them to work, or could you get hexed just by getting it on your skin?"

Fred frowned and looked to George. George shrugged in turn. "Not really sure, you'd have to get some in your mouth."

Neville gave them a sweet smile. " You tell me." He lifted each hand, the custards tucked in his palms, and smeared them into the twins' faces before ducking away and back to the fire, laughing. Harry met him with a high five.

The twins took the retaliation with grace, pointing their wand at each other to clean the custard off, careful to keep it out of their mouths.

"I don't think it works!" Fred called. "Good try!"

George abruptly burst into feather, and Fred wailed. "You licked your lips, oh twin of mine!"

The common room burst into laughter.

* * *

A/N: Okay, well, to all of you who are still here, thank you for staying. Took me longer than I thought to get settled, but here I am and should be fine for a while.  
I'll post one chapter in two weeks (if I remember, I'm in college now) til beginning of next month than go back to one a month until I run out and catch up to myself.

Thank you for your patience, and I hope you've enjoyed the chapter.  
Fire & Napalm


	21. Chapter 21

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Twenty-One**:

Harry and Alan met in the library on Sunday. The Slytherin was at the table already, surrounded by books, most of which weren't from the Restricted section this time. Harry scanned the spines, finding three different tomes on languages of the world and one on mythical beasts before he took his usual seat. Hauling out his own homework, Harry asked, "What the Hell did you _do_, Alan?"

Harry received a dark glance, and then a smile. "Tried several charms against the egg itself, pissed off the dragon, tied it up, raced over, kicked the egg, crouched, shielded, and took it down once I had the egg in hand and was out of the danger zone.

Harry stared before shaking his head. "You make it sound so easy."

"You ever tried to conjure steel?" He shot back. "It's horribly complicated. I had four days to practise, and I still fucked it up."

"Hey, I said sound, Alan. Don't get in a knot about it."

Alan flushed. "Sorry. I've had terrible sunburn for the last few days, and it's at the itchy stage. I told Pomfrey and Louis I was fine, but now it's driving me crazy. At least my face isn't peeling, but my ankle…" He sighed. "I'm not going to risk my score telling them I sprained my ankle, either."

Harry fought down his laughter. Alan was such a poseur. "You sure no one you know can heal it? Maybe Severus or Louis…"

"Louis would skin me alive if he knew I hadn't told him I was hurt. Severus would probably box my ears for being a cocky idiot."

Harry drummed his fingers on the table and sighed. "How about I ask my mum for something? Or you could ask Green."

Alan paused. "Green could probably do something about the sunburn, and if I tell him I don't want Louis' lecture he'll just commiserate. What do you think your mum could do?"

Harry gave Alan a bland look. "She raised two kids, and babysat three more. She's healed more sprains than I remember getting. Of course, if she doesn't know how to heal those by now, with three boys to take care of…"

"Alright!" Alan laughed. "Send a copy of the spell to me when you get it, okay? And learn it yourself; it won't kill you."

Harry grinned. "Good." He nodded in satisfaction and turned back to his book. Alan made an exasperated noise and a few seconds later the page beneath his eyes blurred. A large smiley face leered out from the haze and then stuck out its tongue before disappearing, the page back to normal. Harry jerked and glared back at Alan, but his friend was no longer looking. Harry shook his head and went back to reading, humming as he slipped his hand under the table and sent a hex in return.

Alan would probably retaliate again, but that would be after he shifted his feet and found out his shoelaces had been braided together.

IIII

Harry's spirits were soaring as he went back into classes the next week. Despite himself, he was still cheerful as he went into Meditations Tuesday afternoon: he'd gotten Alan to give him some of the burn cream Green had sent, so his sore fingers weren't nearly as bad as they could have been. Fervently, he wished for Hagrid to get rid of the Blast-Ended Skrewts, and just as fervently hoped Dumbledore could talk some sense into him.

Rita Skeeter had come to their class – tailing Alan, no doubt – and brought the conversation around to Hagrid and what he was doing. Harry was pretty sure the Skrewts were illegal in some way or another – especially since he had no idea what they were.

Professor Zen dragged a piece of hard chalk – Harry was sure he ordered it special just to have that loud grating noise – and the entire class instantly went silent. He turned to them and smiled. "Excellent. You're all doing very well. I have looked over the reports from your teachers on your performance, and they all concur that your strength has increased at least to some degree. Again, I know you will feel little in that regard – it takes long familiarity with spells and their nuances before you can see it yourself, but once you are past your OWLs, you will have a better feel for it.

"Now, I have up here an article from the European Magical Monthly. Su Li, please hand them out." Harry leaned over so she could step between him and Rivers to take the thick magazines from him and hand them to the circle of students. "I expect the magazines back in one piece, or you each owe me a galleon – that is not a toy. It is a back issue, from 1990. On page twenty, you will find an article on lying. Take the time to read it, and I expect both a two-foot report on it, and this class. Put them in your bags, and face front."

Harry did so carefully, looking over the cover. It wasn't just lying covered in the magazine: there was another article mentioned on the front about interrogations and something about the weather in Russia that summer. It was a November issue.

Pulling himself from it, Harry returned his attention to class. He would examine it when he didn't have Professor Zen giving him, and a few others, an expectant look.

"I understand it is a rare magazine, but surely you've heard of it before. Nott, you were unsurprised."

Theodore Nott shrugged idly. "My father's gotten the magazine as long as I can remember. The only issues he's missing is from the seventies to eighty-four. I think he has one of the first issues from the fifties."

"Yes," Professor Zen nodded. "It is an exclusive magazine, but it covers some very in depth articles. However, we're here for lying." His mouth quirked. "And no, you do not get points for lying about your homework this week."

IIII

Alan was trying to relax into doing his Defence homework after the first task when Severus came into the Slytherin common room and called for a meeting. The students looked at each other curiously before giving him their attention. Alan closed his book slowly and frowned.

"Thank you for your attention." He sneered. "The Triwizard Tournament traditionally has a Yule Ball, an opportunity," His mouth twitched, "to socialize with our foreign guests. The ball is open only to fourth-years and above – and their dates, if you wish to ask a younger student along."

Several students giggled; a few began to whisper only to fall silent once more as Severus glared around the room and continued.

"Dress robes are to be worn, and the ball begins at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight, in the Great Hall."

Severus' scowl deepened; he straightened, and turned his hard gaze around the room once more. "It is a chance to… relax among company, but your behaviour is still under scrutiny. Do try not to embarrass yourself, your House, or our illustrious school."

Alan held in a snort.

"Prince, come here."

Alan frowned suspiciously, but he put aside his work and stepped up. Severus didn't bother stepping out of the room, he just explained, "The champions and their partners open the ball. Find yourself a date, and make sure you know how to dance."

Grimacing, Alan nodded curtly, and stepped back, bowing mockingly before returning to his homework. He didn't look to see how his father had reacted. He was just grateful he at least had the basics of how to dance down. Sort of.

"If you need help with the steps," Lucille started, "I can give you some pointers."

Alan grinned. "Is that you asking me to the Ball, Lucy?"

She glared at him for the nickname and jerked her hand towards Salvador next to her. "Too late, he already asked in the minute you were up there with Professor Snape."

Alan gave him a quiet clap. "Nice work, Salvador."

The tall black boy shrugged. "I was waiting for it to happen. I knew there would be a Yule Ball already. Do you have someone in mind, or are you going to be floundering in this?"

"I have a few people in mind." Alan shrugged. "But I wouldn't mind a refresher on how to dance either." He turned to his friends at his sides. "What about you, Blaise?" He wouldn't ask Daphne. He knew whom she wanted, and whom she was very unlikely to get.

He was surprised when his friend turned as red as his dark skin allowed.

"Blaise?" Alan asked again, and then stopped. "Oh. Ohhhh. You're gonna want to catch her soon, or she'll sign up to go home for Christmas."

"I am not asking her."

"Who does he want?" Lucille leaned forward.

"I'm not asking her, Alan!"

Ignoring him, Alan turned to answer Lucille, "The littlest Weasley. He's convinced it'd be taboo, or his mother would throw a fit. One of the two."

"Blaise, don't be stupid." Salvador shook his head. "Your mother would cut off her right arm for you. She _adores_ you – you ever heard the term 'favourite child'?"

"Shut up!" He was even redder now. "Fine, I'll ask! She'll then laugh and flat-out refuse, and sic her brothers on me. Happy?"

"Sure." Alan shrugged. "Lemme know when the brother's are coming; there's a wide-range spell I want to try."

Blaise glared at him. Alan smiled brightly back.

IIII

Christmas break had never been so crowded. Harry was sure absolutely everyone was going to be signing on to stay: he was almost surprised when Nanna informed him she was going home for the break, as was Melanie. Ginny, however, refused their invitations to come over.

"I'm staying, Melanie. I got asked to the ball, so I'm going."

Ron choked. Fred and George spun around to jump in on her.

"Ginny! Who asked you?" George demanded. Melanie echoed him, bouncing in place.

"A boy." She answered curtly. "A sweet boy. Melanie, Nanna, come up to my dorm and I'll tell you all about it."

The Weasley boys could only watch in shock as she left. Harry stifled a snort. His desire to laugh faded as Ron's stomach growled, drawing him out of his brotherly outrage with a blank look.

"Hungry?" Harry asked, smirking.

Ron glanced at his stomach and huffed. "Yeah … they serve lunch about now on Saturday, right?"

Harry refrained from reminding him it'd been the same for four years and merely nodded, getting up and leading the way to the Great Hall – leaving Neville with Hermione, both bent over their own homework. Harry would've crossed his fingers, but this was the first time since the ball had been announced that Neville hadn't tried to avoid her.

The Great Hall was scattered with small packs of girls, looking at the boys passing, and giggling amongst themselves. Harry immediately picked out Alan at the Slytherin table, sitting with his chair leaned back on two legs and for all appearances entranced by the cloudy ceiling. He followed Ron to seats at the Gryffindor table, picking out his own food but sending periodic looks at Alan. Alan hadn't lingered in the Great Hall since the Tournament started, not without a book on his lap.

Harry had barely started mentally speculating what Alan would do for the Ball when Blaise turned and said something to him, and Alan dropped back to the ground. The champion pushed back his chair and stood, sweeping around the bottom of the table to come up on the far side of the Ravenclaw one. Halfway up the length, he stopped and, speaking at a normal tone in a dead silent hall, was heard by everyone.

"Miss Lovegood, would you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Harry choked. Alan was asking _who_ to the Yule Ball?

"Why thank you, Prince, but I don't really know how to dance." Lovegood answered, sounding like she wasn't sure what he was asking her to in the first place. Harry didn't know if she even remembered there was going to be a ball at all.

"I'd be honoured to help you learn, if you like." Alan offered. Harry hadn't heard him sound that sweet before. It was a fake-sounding earnestness you might use on a nervous pet. Luna either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Why thank you, Alan. I accept."

Alan bent and apparently kissed Luna's hand before he returned to the Slytherin table and turned down it to stick his tongue out at a group of older girls. Harry snickered, and Ron, beside him, shook his head slowly.

"What's he doing taking Loony Lovegood to the ball?"

Harry chuckled. "I'll be he's doing it to get the other stupid girls off his back. He's a champion; how would it look if he didn't have a date? And Luna probably won't get any crazy ideas."

Ron shuddered. "If she did, it'd be scary."

Harry paused, momentarily horrified. "Well, yeah, there is that." He shook his head. "Who are you going to take to the Ball?"

Ron shrugged with forced casualness. "Can't think of anyone, really."

"You know," Harry grinned, "it doesn't have to be a Gryffindor. You could ask Padma, or maybe … Hannah Abbott."

Ron turned considering, then he shot Harry a glare. "Is Neville going to ask Hermione anytime soon?"

"He hasn't yet." Harry shrugged. "If he doesn't do it now, he probably won't get his ass in gear for at least a week."

Ron shook his head. "I'll leave him to it. Do you think Hannah might have a date? She's not bad…"

Harry gave him a wry grin. "Well, she's sitting right across from us. Are you a Gryffindor or not? You're not a champion, so the hall shouldn't fall quiet at the sight of your mug."

Ron paled and swallowed a mouthful hard. He squared his shoulders and quailed. "Maybe once I'm done eating…" He shoved another forkful into his mouth, chewing busily.

Harry shrugged. "Well, she might be asked before you get around to it by someone with more courage."

Ron turned immediately and glared, swallowing hard. He shook his head in disgust. "Slythindor." He spat, and stood, stalking down around the bottom of the table to come up behind Hannah where she was sitting with her friends.

The girls all fell silent as Ron approached, but no one else did: the hall was still a blur of sound, and Harry could only tell Ron was asking her because he turned the famous Weasley red. Ron nodded quickly, his mouth splitting into a wide grin before he turned and walked back with a spring in his step. The Hufflepuff girls all broke into a fit of giggles, shooting looks at the retreating Weasley.

Ron sat back down, beaming. "She said yes! I've got a date, Harry, she said yes!"

Harry laughed. "I knew you could do it. It wasn't that hard, was it?"

"No… But now it's your turn."

Harry choked on his drink. "I can't think of anyone, honest." That was a lie. The first to come to mind was Hermione, but she was Neville's crush. The next he wouldn't dare – the last was the strange girls who kept sending him Valentine's – three girls, actually, and he had no idea who they were – but a few close guesses.

"Sure you can." Ron argued. "You could always ask Padma, you know." He grinned as he said it, even as Harry sent him a rude gesture. Everyone who knew him, knew how much he hated the Patils.

"Yeah, right." Harry laughed. "The only girl who comes to mind is Hermione, and I wouldn't dare ask her."

"Well fine." Ron shrugged, returning to his meal. He waved his fork in Harry's face as he swallowed another large bite and continued, "You'd better not go dateless to the Ball, though. If I have to put up with my dress robes…" Ron shook his head in disgust.

"I remember my mum mentioning something about maroon ones your mother had her eye on in a second-hand shop. They even had lace, but my mother said she'd dragged her somewhere else." Harry propped his head on his hand. "What did yours end up being?"

Ron tucked the last bite away and glared at Harry. Ron glanced at his plate – Harry had finished his two sandwiches while watching the dramatics – and dragged Harry out of his seat and back upstairs, stopping only once to return Hannah's wave from the Hufflepuff table.

Back up in their dorm, Neville was lying on his bed with a book on his chest. He looked up as Ron stormed in and threw open his trunk, fishing around through it for his dress robes. He tugged them out and shook them down with an irritated flourish. Neville whistled lowly.

"Those are nice, Ron."

The robes were a deep brown, with Celtic knot work along the hems in golden thread. The gold thread looked gaudy against the simple fabric, but they'd look nice on Ron without looking like a train wreck of colour.

"I think they're fine." Harry shrugged. "They could've been maroon, you know, with lace."

Ron shuddered and made to toss his robes back into the trunk, but he paused instead and took the time to fold them again. Harry tried not to smile: Ron was making an effort to take care of his new robes. They wouldn't have been even a quarter as expensive as Neville's, much less _his_ – which were twice as expensive as Neville's – but they were probably one of his few new things.

"Whatever. I still don't like them."

"I'm sure Hannah will agree with me."

Neville perked. "Hannah?"

Ron straightened. "I actually asked her. In the Great Hall, just now. She said yes, too. I'm going to go tell Dean and Seamus." He darted out without waiting for an answer. Neville watched him go with a smirk and turned back to Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry couldn't help it; he started laughing, Neville quickly following suit.

"How did you talk him into that?" Neville managed.

"Alan had just gotten up and asked Lovegood." Harry sniggered. "I played off his courage, that if Alan could get up and do it, so could he."

"I can so see that." Neville shook his head. "But Lovegood? What is he thinking…"

"She's probably okay." Harry shrugged. "Did you ask Hermione yet?"

Neville flushed. "Do you have anyone in mind?" He shot back.

The effect was perfect: Harry flushed. It was one thing to lie to Ron; it was another thing entirely to lie to Neville. Harry shrugged and turned aside, answering under his breath. "Not in this lifetime."

"So you're not going to ask her?"

Harry glared at him. "I _can't_, Neville, we'd both be lynched! She probably wouldn't even accept; neither of her parents like the Potters at all. We're not 'good enough'; remember? They didn't even care last year, when their daughter had Pettigrew sleeping in her room!"

Neville grinned. "So it _is_ Daphne."

Harry suddenly flushed again and turned away. "Yeah, so? I'm not asking her. I'll ask Parvati or Lavender before I'd subject her to that."

Neville blanked his face and ducked back into his curtains, shutting Harry out. Upset at himself and at his friend, Harry ducked behind his own and hauled out his homework. He pulled out the European Magical Monthly magazine and began to flip through the articles, determined to lose himself in it for a good while.

IIII

Two days later they entered the last week of term and Harry still hadn't gotten anywhere with his decision. Surprisingly, Neville hadn't gotten around to asking Hermione either, and Harry finally got tired of the nonsense. Hagrid made the perfect opportunity in their last class of term with him, complaining about Skeeter's interview – which had been more asking what he knew of Alan Prince than of the Skrewts. She had deflated quickly, it seemed, when Hagrid said he was a very helpful student. Ron wasn't the least interested in how it went after that, and immediately asked Hagrid if he was planning to go to the Ball.

"Though' I might look in on it, yeah." Hagrid nodded. "Should be a good do, I reckon. Do you all have dates?"

Ron nodded eagerly. "I've got a date with Hannah Abbott."

Hermione said nothing, and Harry merely turned red, turning back to chopping up the meat with interest. Wisely, Hagrid didn't pursue the topic, leaving them to depart for lunch in complete silence. When they entered the Great Hall and met up with Neville, Harry deliberately chose the seat next to him. Soft conversation started, and they left for Arithmancy before Harry pulled Neville back to talk.

"You still haven't asked her." Harry hissed. "If you don't get your ass in gear, I'm going to set you up with Parvati."

Neville snorted softly, his face pale. "Fine. I'll ask at dinner. You, then, get to ask Susan Bones or I'll set you up with Parvati myself. I'd better see you do it at dinner, too."

"I'm not asking her in front of everybody!"

"Then catch her after. I will go through with my threat."

Harry scowled, but he was fighting a small smirk. "I know."

Neville held up his end early into the meal that evening. "Hermione?" He asked, turning pink as she looked up. "Would you go to the ball with me?"

Hermione covered her mouth and swallowed, her face falling. "Oh, Neville. I'm sorry; I'm already going with someone else."

Harry thought Neville hid his dismay very well. Neville swallowed lightly and looked down at his plate, answering without looking at her. "Oh, well. Sorry."

"It's alright." Hermione reassured him. A look at her face, and Harry had to look away quickly not to cough in surprise. She looked really disappointed. "I'd love to have a dance with you, though. I'm sure my date won't mind."

"Really?" Neville glanced back up, his face only a little pale. "That would be great. Can I ask who you're going with?"

Hermione smirked. "I'd like to keep it a secret until then, actually. I'm sure you'll be surprised."

Harry caught Neville's eye and smiled wryly. "Hermione, with that tone of voice, I'd guess you'd gotten asked by Prince if I didn't know he'd already asked Lovegood."

Hermione quickly returned her attention to her plate, and Harry shared a confused look with Neville. He'd ask Neville who his second choice was later, when Hermione wasn't at the table with them.

Dinner ended a lot sooner than Harry had hoped, and he left quickly, checking the Hufflepuff table for Susan to make sure he hadn't missed her. He hadn't, and he waited at the door for her to go by; Neville wasn't too far away, waiting as well. Harry didn't have time to ask him, as Susan came out with a group of girls that included Hannah Abbott.

"Susan?" Harry asked. "Could I have a moment?"

The girls around her burst into giggles, and Harry flushed. Susan was blushing too as she stepped out of the group to stand by him. "Yes, Harry?"

"Do you have a date to the Ball?" Susan shook her head slowly, a smile blossoming on her face. "Would you like to go with me?" Harry finished quickly, and then he hastened to add, "Just friends, you know. I'd like your company."

Susan nodded carefully. "Sure, Harry. I love to go with you as a friend." She smiled with what Harry thought was relief, and he suspected that she, like him, must have somebody else that really caught her eye that she wasn't willing to ask or was already taken.

"Great. I'll meet you by the Hufflepuff common room, then?"

"You know where it is?" Susan asked, surprised.

Harry grinned. "I know where all the common rooms are. Would you rather just meet here, in the Entrance Hall?"

She shook her head, grinning. "No, meet me at the Hufflepuff entrance. I'll wait for you there, okay?"

Harry nodded and, impulsively, he bowed over her hand and kissed it before walking away. He was surprised to find that Neville wasn't waiting for him, but had instead approached a group of Ravenclaws and was talking to them. They giggled and tittered worse than Susan's friends, and finally Neville came over to him with a disgusted expression. He shrugged at Harry's look.

"Asked Padma. I won't feel bad ignoring her."

Harry blinked. "You _really_ like Hermione." He stated.

Neville shrugged again and picked up his pace, leading the way back to the Gryffindor dorms.

Harry didn't press.

IIII

Harry yawned and stretched out his back, sighing heavily as he turned to grin at Ron. They gathered their books and made it out the door of the Potions classroom before Ron started complaining.

"I can't believe he threw that test on us," Ron moaned. "I forgot half the stuff I needed; it turned _green_ on me. Green!"

Harry smiled faintly. He'd nearly done as bad as Ron. If Alan hadn't suddenly had a coughing fit near the end of the potion, he would have failed – he'd have forgotten the bezoar, too distracted trying to talk himself into believing his choice not to ask Daphne was right. Staring at the back of her head hadn't helped.

Neville had finally gotten over himself – he was no longer avoiding Hermione, and they were dissecting the test several feet ahead.

As they came up to the Entrance Hall, a shrill voice Harry knew and hated cut in,

"Are you going to the ball with Weasley, Potter?" Pansy gave a high laugh, "I can't imagine you found a girl willing to go with you, after all. But surely you can do better than a _Weasley_."

Harry turned around and smiled coldly at her. "Well, at least I didn't have to agree to go with _Malfoy_. Did you accept because you actually _like_ him, or are you finally engaged with no options anymore?"

Draco turned pink, and Pansy gasped in outrage. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd gotten stuck taking the _toothy mudblood_! I'm sure a good poison would take care of that!"

Harry didn't even go for his wand; Alan already had his out, and Pansy's robes suddenly turned a sickly yellow-brown – with the same smell of diarrhoea that had plagued Lockhart second year. Hermione came up to his shoulder and smiled sweetly Pansy's way as the Slytherin girl tried not to vomit over her sticky, dripping robes. Everyone ignored Alan passing by with his friends, his hand over his nose.

"Yellow's a lovely colour for you, Pansy." Hermione smiled. "A warning sign. Just because you don't like your date, doesn't mean you have to insult mine. I'm sure you could've gotten away with asking Harry yourself if you were so interested."

Harry turned to Hermione in horror, but she merely smiled down at him and swept into the Great Hall, a stately princess far nobler than half of Slytherin. Harry spared only another moment's look at Pansy before he gagged and followed Hermione inside, hoping his appetite would return without the rancid smell permeating the Great Hall.

He'd have to talk to Alan about choosing a better time for spells like that. Even Fred and George weren't that bad.

Neville was bowing Hermione into her seat at the Gryffindor table, both of them still grinning. Harry slid into the seat across from them beside Ron, and quickly gave Hermione a high five. With all the grinning, Harry got a sudden insight staring at Hermione's teeth, and had to comment,

"Madam Pomfrey did a good job restoring your teeth earlier this year." He ventured, hoping…

Hermione smiled brightly at him once again, "She did, didn't she?"

"A great job. They're perfect."

Hermione smiled again and Harry took the time to really note the difference. They were no longer that edge of too big, and fit her mouth nicely.

"I know." Hermione added.

Harry grinned and turned back to his meal.

IIII

Christmas came, and the Durmstrang ship looked like a frosted ghost in the lake, the iced pumpkin of Beauxbatons perched on the snowy lawn. In his cozy dorm, Harry woke to Christmas morning and fought not to frown at his draped curtains. A fit of dread hit him for a moment: the last time he'd spent Christmas at Hogwarts had been second year. He'd been hiding from his family after he discovered he was a Parselmouth, fearing his father would hate him.

Now, it was a far different reason: the Yule Ball was this year, and yes, he did have a date. Harry grinned. Susan Bones was a fun girl to hang around, and this time he wasn't flustered trying to keep away from the Patil girls. He was going to be able to avoid the Ministry party this year, but he would miss being at home in the Potter manor.

Determined to distract himself, Harry sat up and leaned forward, smiling as he glimpsed the mass of presents stacked over his trunk and the end of his bed.

The first present he picked up was from 'the Marauders'. It was not a good sign, but certainly a fun one. It was addressed to both him and Neville. With a sneaking suspicion, Harry leaned off his bed to snag a shoe and throw it through Neville's curtains to wake him up. His brother yelped, scrambling up from his bed to shove his head through the curtains.

"Harry, what the bloody Hell was that for?"

"Neville, it's Christmas." Harry said, exasperated. "And I've got a present from the Marauders addressed to both of us, so if you want to see it…"

Neville's eyes widened, and he tore his curtains open to stumble off his bed to drop next to Harry. They both got a grip on the package and tore it open. It was a plain, brown box. Harry groaned and pulled it open. A large, folded sheet of parchment was overtop a thick book – a letter was on top of both. He handed the book and parchment to Neville and tore the letter open.

_To Neville and Harry,_

_ We, the Marauders four, grant our heirs with two items and a charge._

_ You are to succeed at the instructions in the tome in your hands;_

_ And use the parchment we bestow you for it's noble purpose and your own ends._

_ We solemnly swear we are up to no good._

_ The Marauders;_

_ Moony, Brownclaw, Padfoot, and Prongs_

Neville stared at Harry, and then shifted the paper off the book. He burst into laughter and grinned brightly. "'_The Auror's Guide to Animal Camouflage_'; Harry, I can't believe they gave this to us! Of all things – it's not legal if you're not an auror."

Harry pulled the parchment from Neville, "I'm not surprised in the least. What surprises me, is this…" Harry tapped the parchment with his wand and murmured, "_I solemnly swear I am up to no good_."

Black ink bled out from the parchment, and Harry smiled as it carved a detailed plaque across the front of the page facing him. The words that arced across the top were completely familiar

_Messrs Moony, Brownclaw, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_(With the aid of their better halves)_

_Purveyors of aid to Magical Mischief-Makers_

_Are proud to present,_

_THE MARAUDERS MAP_

_Version Two_

Neville shook his head slowly, "Why'd they give this to us? I mean, I knew they were remaking it, but why us?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't want to give the answer that first came to mind. This … made him think his parents were a little worried, and wanted him to be safe. "I think they just got tired of seeing 'Wormtail' on it." He flipped it open and suddenly smiled, "Look, this is really nice!"

The writing was crisp, neat, and precise – Harry recognized it as Lily's. The dots had been altered to little footsteps, and the entirety of Hogwarts was clear and detailed – which meant they must have gotten Dumbledore's permission for it: The Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff dorms were all in perfect clarity. Down in Slytherin, however, Harry could see that while Zabini and Nott were both present in their dorm, Alan wasn't with them.

"Huh. Prince isn't in his dorm. I wonder if he's with his father."

"Can you find dear Severus Snape on there?" Neville asked absently; he'd already started reading the introduction to the Animagus book.

Harry shrugged, still looking when suddenly the parchment jumped and refolded itself, a section of the revealed space flaring red. A second look picked out a room several doors down from Snape's office: inside were two sets of idle footprints, labelled 'Alan Prince' and 'Severus Snape'.

Neville glanced over and whistled. "Now that is handy. Does this show the grounds, too?"

Harry flipped to another page and showed Neville before shutting the parchment and tapping his wand once more, "_Mischief managed_."

The parchment tucked itself shut and went blank. Neville shut the book as well and grinned. "Our parents have given us the go-ahead, Harry. We are to become Animagi, with the help of the new-and-improved Marauder's Map. This is amazing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I knew it was coming. Go back to your own presents. Not all Gryffindors are that obsessed with pranks."

"You're not a Gryffindor," Neville grumbled under his breath. "Anyways, can I see you open mine to you first?"

Harry smiled. "Sure. _Accio_ Neville's gift to me." A small glossy brown package lifted out from under the pile and into his hand. Harry caught it easily and pulled the paper open to the hand-sized box marked 'Cogman's Clockwork'. Predictably, it held a clock but not one to tell time. Harry ran his fingers over the delicate hands that each held a name. They were spread out at the moment, with his parents' names, his sister, Neville and his parents, and Remus and Sirius as well. In place of the numbers were locations and states, like '_work'_ '_school'_ '_home'_ and '_mortal peril'_.

"Thanks Neville." Harry said, running his finger over the hands. He wished there was another hand on it – he wanted to add Alan too.

"I can turn it on for you." Neville offered. "And you can add more names – up to ten or twelve, I think. I was pretty sure you'd want those names, though. I think my parents got me one, too, but I'd have to go find it. I hope you like it."

Harry touched the clock face gently and smiled back up at him. "I love it, Neville." He laughed, "Now my gift to you feels stupid."

Neville laughed again. "Don't bother; this was my second idea. The first was to get you a Quidditch hat, but when my parents went in there to check out the clocks – they want one for our house – the idea just jumped me. Once you know the next names you want on, I can show you how to do it."

Harry nodded slowly as he eyed the hands. He wouldn't be adding Alan for a while yet. The other boys had woken up, though, and Harry wasn't wanting to continue the conversation. Neville returned to his own bed – he found out his parents had gotten a clock for him, too – and Harry still had a number of presents to go through.

Hermione had gotten him a book on Potions; Ron, a bag of dungbombs; Hagrid had sent sweets; Remus, chocolate; Sirius had given him a penknife to open any lock and untie any knot. Harry had to wonder just how much trouble his family wanted him to get into this year. Maybe Dumbledore should've told them he wasn't allowed to pick fights with Alan anymore.

Then again, his parents might just tell him to go after Malfoy – which wasn't such a bad idea…

His parents had split on his gifts again this year. From his mother, he got a warm navy wool cloak with a platinum serpent clasp in the infinity symbol, carved with great detail down to the scales and golden eyes. His father had gotten him a set of Quidditch pads, gloves, and a golden Snitch of his own. Nanna had been practicing her knitting again – she'd been doing it for nearly four years now – and gave him a pair of red and green gloves with runes around the cuffs she must have had their mother help with.

What was it with his sister and red and green? She'd never been that into Christmas spirit before he started school…

IIII

Lunch was delightful, filling, and nearly too heavy – but since Harry was almost immediately dragged outside with most of the rest of the students, it was nice to romp in the snow with a warm, full belly. It surprised everyone when Hermione left at five o'clock; even more surprisingly to find that so had the rest of the girls. Harry sent Neville a wide-eyed look, but someone hit him with a snowball and he put it from his mind.

The match continued until one hour to, and Harry and Neville hauled Ron out of the snowman his brothers had been building around him so they could all get changed. They laughed until they came through the door, fished their way through the chatting, brightly-dressed girls who were actually done, and slipped upstairs to fish out their own robes.

Harry put his on with a silent kind of reverence. He'd had them for two years and never worn them, though he'd been looking forward to it. He'd thought it would simply be a Ministry function; instead, he was going to be in front of most of the entire school. The stripes he knew were across the back were barely visible from the front; green embroidery, so small it was almost invisible, picked its way over his shoulders and collar and around the seams at the hemline and sleeves. He hesitated only a moment before adding his serpent pendant as well.

For almost any other occasion, he'd have felt overdressed; standing in the dorm with his friends, he certainly did. Seamus and Dean looked his way and gaped a moment.

"Awesome, Harry!" Seamus called. "Man, those are amazing!"

Harry turned so they couldn't see him blush; he caught Neville's eye and almost wanted to walk out right then, but he felt he owed Ron to take a look at how he looked in his robes. Neville's were fine: the gold cat on the front lapel was stark against the burgundy fabric that just looked great on him. Ron, however…

"That's really nice, Ron." Harry smiled honestly. "Really." He tried not to feel jealous: Ron's robes had an odd high collar that made him look even taller than he already was. He'd been trying to ignore that all his friends were going up like weeds and he wasn't. Ron sent him a betrayed look, and Harry added his last shot, "You look really Gryffindor."

Ron threw his hands in the air in disgust. "Fine! They look fine!" He moved to storm out, but Neville threw a hairbrush at him. Harry shot him a glare.

"I'd throw you yours," Neville grinned, "but I don't think it'd do any good."

Neville's hair was laying neat and tidy on his head. Harry ran one hand after the other through his own and hoped it looked deliberate now instead of just plain messy.

"And so we have everyone's favourite… Gryffindor." Neville grinned.

Harry glared at him, "You're looking good too, Nev."

Neville shuddered and waved his hand in apology. He disliked 'Nev' as much as Harry hated 'Prongslet'.

"Ron, are you ready?" Harry called, "We can go pick up our dates together and Neville can trail us until he's got to split off for Ravenclaw."

"I agreed to meet Padma in the Entrance Hall." Neville cut in. "I'll see you down there. Sure you don't want to wait and stare at the girls as they come down?"

Harry shook his head, and then nodded to Dean and Seamus who were still figuring out their dress robes, before leading the way out of the dorm, Ron following him reluctantly.

The common room was packed full now, and it looked like a sea of colour with everyone out of their generic black robes. Ginny came down shortly after they entered, and squealed happily as they came upon each other. Harry was surprised to see her in very nice cream dress robes with a simple, wide border a shade darker than the robes themselves. Harry sent her a bright smile and a nod, and she joined them at the door.

"It's good to see you; you look gorgeous, Harry!" She blushed as soon as she said it, but forced herself to keep walking. Harry flushed as well, but managed not to stammer.

"Thank you. Your robes are beautiful on you, too. Who's your date?" Harry asked casually. Ron had tried to get it out of her and Hermione many times before, but both had evaded the question. This time, however, he caught her off balance. She flushed, giggled weakly, and leaned over to whisper."

"Prince talked Blaise Zabini into asking me. I said yes." She fell back onto her heels and laughed again, "I'm meeting him in the Entrance Hall. I was so shocked; I never would have guessed, but he was really polite. I think it will be fun."

Harry kept his surprise hidden, and he gave her an honest smile. "I'm glad you got asked. I hope you enjoy it. You continue on with Neville, okay? I'm going to take Ron down a secret passage to the Hufflepuff commons for our dates."

Ginny laughed awkwardly again and waved them off. "Go right ahead, Harry! I'll see you there."

Harry heard Neville start chuckling as well, and then they were behind a tapestry and on their way down several spiralling flights of stairs, coming out just beyond the Hufflepuff common room on the end towards the kitchen portrait. It was only a short jaunt around the next left corner and they were at the doorway to the Hufflepuff commons. They waited outside for the door to open; when a younger student poked his head out and say them, he yelped,

"Hannah! Susan! Your dates are here!"

Ron swallowed nervously beside him, and Harry felt glad he avoided doing the same. He'd danced with her so many times before; he could do this. When the two girls stepped out, Harry came forward automatically, inwardly marvelling at just how much hair Susan's ever-present braid had been hiding. It cascaded down her back from a tie behind her shoulders, going so far he had to wonder if she would sit on it at the meal. Once he got his attention back to her robes, he smiled.

"Your robes are gorgeous, Susan."

She blushed and fingered the tan material self-consciously. "Yours cost more than mind did."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not talking money; I'm talking about how good it looks on you, especially against your hair."

She shot him a wry smile. "Stop tossing the compliments about like that, or I'll think you're buttering me up for my aunt's sake."

Harry innocently raised his eyebrows and plucked at her pale green shawl. "Me? Flattery? Ron, Susan accused me of flattery."

Ron took a moment to pull his gaze from Hannah's form that was showing curves Harry had never suspected she had. It seemed Ron hadn't thought she would either, but once he got his eyes away, he turned to Susan and grinned. "It's not flattery if he tells you you're gorgeous, Susan." He immediately returned his attention to his own date, bowing to offer her his arm. "But you won't hold half the attention Hannah does."

Harry shared a look with Susan and they both stifled their snickers, Susan with one hand over her mouth. Harry solemnly offered her his arm in turn, and she accepted, her composure returning almost immediately. He shot her a wink as they trailed behind Ron and Hannah. He tilted his head to whisper, "Well, he's got good recovery there."

Susan started giggling again, and Harry straightened to appreciate the picture she made. He'd never really thought about the fact that Susan would make a really cute date. Actually, he'd never really thought of her as cute before. He must not have been paying attention.

It wasn't a long walk from the Hufflepuff common room to the Entrance Hall, and when they arrived it was packed. Harry turned and struggled his way through, homing in on Neville through long-acquaintance and something of a sixth sense about it – and a little help from the modified Point Me charm he'd asked Alan about shortly before the Tournament started. He'd already met up with his date. Padma Patil didn't look bad in her turquoise robes, but the greedy look on face as she stood clinging to Neville's arm was unpleasant. Harry made a note to tell Neville to ask Su Li out next time he was short-listed for a date. Anything was better than putting up with the Patils. Su would understand.

Parvati was standing nearby and frowning at her sister. Plainly Zacharias Smith wasn't half the catch Neville Longbottom was. When Neville caught sight of them approaching, he forced a smile again.

"Hey, you got your dates. Hannah, Susan. You look very nice."

Hannah blushed again, and Susan laughed. "Not as nice as you and Harry. You two are absolutely amazing; those robes are gorgeous." She put a hand to her mouth and corrected, "Handsome. Of course, it's 'handsome' for men." She grinned, teasing them. Neville gave a little bow, his face a little pink.

"Of course it's handsome. How could it not when it's draped over such fine frames as ours?"

Harry rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh again. He was about to respond himself when Parvati snorted. "I can't believe she wore that –that _whatever it is_. It's not even a robe."

They turned to see what she was criticizing, and Harry felt his mouth drop open. He shut it and bit his lip. He would not laugh at Alan's date. He wouldn't, no matter how… odd it was. After it, it wasn't actually _bad –_ right?

Luna had just come down the stairs from the Ravenclaw dorms, and she was wearing an ankle-length muggle dress under a diaphanous see-through silver robe. The flirty, slim dress was an absolute rainbow of colours – most commonly found in rainbow sherbet. The robe muted the colours, turning them a delicate silver-tone, but it didn't erase the butterbeer-cap necklace, or the crab apples in one ear, and the large strawberry in the other.

Her hair looked nice. The front had been braided into a crown, and it fell behind her in loose, clean blonde waves. She walked down the stairs like she was naturally the centre of attention, her confidence completely unshakable.

"Wow." Harry managed. "That's colourful."

Susan gave a nervous little giggle just before McGonagall spoke up,

"Champions, please come over here."

The crowd parted to let Luna find her way through, and once she was there Harry caught a mere glimpse of black hair against black clothes before the view closed once more. There was a bit more shuffling, and then the doors to the Great Hall were opened.

* * *

A/N: Hey, look, I'm on time! Wheee!

Yay for school allowing me to remember what day of the week it is.

Fire & Napalm


	22. Chapter 22

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Twenty-Two**:

While the doors were open, nobody actually moved. Only a few of those up front went through, as something just outside the entrance temporarily halted the rest. McGonagall finally began to chivvy people along, and when Harry came abreast of the champions standing attentively by the door he saw why.

Alan was completely comfortable next to Luna, cradling her hand on his arm and wearing his annoying-as-Hell grin: the only reason it wasn't smug was because he hadn't done anything yet. But the larger reason people were staring was that, far aside from Luna's cocktail dress, Alan was not in robes either: he was in a tuxedo, no tie, a silver shirt, and a brilliant purple-and-blue flower in his lapel. Harry had never admired Alan's self-confidence as much as he did right then, standing in front of the entire school with that flower, and Luna Lovegood on his arm.

It probably didn't help that the suit was so completely tailored Harry felt a twinge of envy and knew he'd be asking where on earth he got it. He bumped Susan's arm to get her moving with a small frown and moved on before Alan's grin could get anymore pronounced. He was about five seconds away from punching him, and he normally _liked_ the git.

Besides, if he didn't move Ron along, Alan probably _would_ get punched.

Once they were inside the hall, people were moving quickly to select one of the many round tables scattered around the Hall. Someone was waving for their attention, and he followed the gesture to find a small table for eight with Ginny smiling brightly up at him. Beside her, Blaise Zabini was wearing a translucent navy overrobe with dark grey robes beneath. Ron hissed between his teeth upon seeing his sister's date, and Harry sent a quick look at Susan. She smiled innocently at him and stepped wide, landing on Ron's foot. When he looked up in outrage Harry caught his eye and gently shook his head. Ron opened his mouth to complain, then shut it again to look at Hannah and then throw his hands in the air in defeat. Harry gave Susan a bright smile. He was really glad he'd asked her.

They joined Ginny and Blaise at the table, Harry taking the seat next to Zabini, and Ron tucked between the Hufflepuffs once more. Neville sat next to Ginny himself.

They settled with few words, and it wasn't long before Zabini gently turned their attention to the doors of the Great Hall. The champions were coming in. Harry turned eagerly; he'd ignored the other two champions in favour of Alan and he wanted to see who had come with Krum and Fleur. He took one good look at Krum's date and his jaw dropped.

Ginny squealed. "Oh, I _knew_ that would be gorgeous! I can't believe that's Hermione!"

Susan gently tapped his jaw, and he closed his mouth, watching her for a few moments longer. He shook himself and turned to scan Fleur in her well-fitted silver satin sheath and her date Roger Davies, a Ravenclaw Chaser, and then looked at Alan and Luna again. He couldn't help it; he laughed.

"That tuxedo is ridiculous."

Susan nodded slowly, and Harry noticed her staring again. Padma spoke quietly, but not quietly enough.

"And I thought Krum's Quidditch clothes were good. Those trousers on that bum… I hadn't known he _had_ an bum, he's so thin."

Susan abruptly snapped out of it and burst into giggles; Padma turned bright red and stared back down at the table. Harry just laughed. Alan was doing all this show on purpose; he knew it. He had the attention of almost everyone in the hall, even some of the boys who were looking damn jealous – and a few who weren't.

The champions took seats along the Head Table. Alan bowed Luna to her seat, and then sat beside her, next to Mr Templar. Politely, Templar began a conversation. Harry didn't know whether to wish the man luck, or try and imagine what on earth they'd talk about.

Turning back to his plate, he found a menu had appeared and grinned. "Oh, this should be fun. Menus."

Susan had already begun to look through hers and squealed excitedly. "Hannah, look at this! They're offering all kinds of dishes. I haven't ever tasted lamb before. What do you plan on getting?"

Zabini snorted lightly and eyed the selections. "How do you suppose we order?"

Neville shrugged. "Maybe you just tell your plate? Hasenpfeffer?" Neville tried. He blinked as a bowl appeared on his plate, filled to the brim with the stew. "Good thing I was considering trying that."

Everyone followed his example in short order, and the meal was entered. Harry struggled with what to talk about with all four houses at the table. Susan, Hannah and Padma seemed content to chatter away at each other, but Harry was having trouble. Neville and Zabini seemed to be ignoring everyone. While he could understand Neville's reticence – the girl he wanted was presently having a lively conversation with her date at the Head table – Alan's friend was simply being left out. Harry wasn't sure he liked that. He had watched enough Slytherins to be able to tell he was uncomfortable.

Hell, he'd be uncomfortable sitting at the table with Ron if Ginny were his date, and they were friends.

Finally, with a silent and heartfelt apology to Susan, he broached the only topic he felt sure Zabini could enjoy.

"Zabini, do you follow Quidditch?"

Fortunately for him, Zabini did and could carry a conversation about it – he freely admitted he had been planning to try out for Chaser that year before the interhouse tournament was cancelled. Susan had given him a dirty look the next time he turned around, but he'd drawn Ron, Ginny, and Zabini into a good conversation, and all of them could hold their own. Harry felt he deserved Hufflepuff points for making the effort to reach out, but he'd have to make it up once they started dancing. Ginny's grateful look definitely made it worth it.

The meal ended with a sigh of gratitude from Susan that made him wince. They stood, and the tables were whisked away as a platform appeared in the middle of the room. Harry grinned, and Susan began to bounce on the balls of her feet, watching transfixed as the Weird Sisters trooped in. He waited eagerly to see the champions – or, more specifically, Alan – come down and open the Ball.

The band struck up a slow, mournful tune, and Harry felt quite disappointed as Alan brought Luna into a slow, gentle swaying. Harry could only grin, remembering one of the few muggle shows he'd seen that had featured a scene quite similar: the tuxedoed man leading a woman in a pretty little dress around to a slow tune. The only saving grace between their outfits, however, was the flower in his lapel, and the silvery overrobe of Luna's.

Susan suddenly tugged on his arm, and Harry noticed that a few couples had moved onto the dace floor. Harry stepped forward with a small smile, and took Susan out to dance as well, a nice slow step that matched the crowd easily. Neville was politely leading Padma a few steps away, and Zabini had taken Ginny up towards Alan. Slowly, despite the occasion, Harry began to feel bored – slow dances reminded him of the Ministry functions. At least this time he had a solid excuse to turn down Parvati.

The song ended with a mournful last note from the bagpipes, and Susan gave him a brilliant smile, brightening even more as the next song was struck up at a lively pace. Harry grinned with her.

"I love this song."

"Me too!" She gushed, grabbing his hands again. The crowd opened up a bit more, growing louder and moving into a lively press of people. He'd completely lost sight of his friends, but the dance was distracting him. He maintained a tight grip on Susan's hands - simply not to lose her of course.

The next song was slow again, and he was feeling hot. He tugged Susan away from the platform towards the buffet table that had opened up, and the empty seats by the walls. Since she was as enthralled by the slow song as he was, it wasn't a challenge.

Unsurprisingly, Ron joined them without further ado. Harry waved him over, and he beamed.

"Harry! You know, Hannah's a really good dancer! She can make me look good out there!" On his arm, Hannah blushed, but she was grinning, holding onto him with a soft giggle.

Harry looked at them askance, "Good, you need all the help you can get."

Susan and Hannah laughed away his token protest, and Harry grabbed a couple cookies and a drink before leading them away to one of the tables and out of the crowd. It wasn't long before Hermione found them there as well, Viktor Krum in tow. Harry nodded to the Quidditch player, while Ron frowned slightly. Hermione herself was beaming.

"Harry, Ron!" She panted, slightly breathless. "Are you having a good time? Viktor, these are Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter and their dates, um," Hermione looked between the two Hufflepuffs in concern. Harry stepped forward and nodded to Viktor before holding his hand out to Susan.

"Nice to meet you, this is Susan Bones." Harry sent Ron a firm look, which made him swallow and wave towards Hannah.

"Hanna Abbott." He forced his lips into a weak smile. "It's … good to meet you too, Krum."  
"Very good to meet you both." Viktor answered. "Herm-own-ninny has much to say about you both, all of it very good. You are good friends."

"She's a wonderful friend to have." Harry nodded, ignoring the odd pronunciation. Harry's eyes slipped past him to a turquoise robe and an argument at one of the tables. He wasn't sure… A second look proved him right, and he groaned. All his friends looked as well just in time to see Padma slap Neville soundly and storm off into the dancers. His friend stood only for a moment before sitting down sullenly. Harry sighed. "Excuse me. Susan, would you wait here a moment?"

Susan nodded quickly and turned to ask Hermione something. Harry walked past her and made his way over to Neville, who was sitting at the table with his eyes closed, his hands on his forehead. He didn't look up as Harry approached, and Harry took a seat and leaned back.

"Have we ever been to a single event without offending one of them?"

"No." Neville sighed. "I didn't even do anything! Just asked if she wanted to go dance with her sister when she was asking to dance. Seemed to think I wanted to be rid of her, and, well, it was true, I'm not interested, but I was polite, I swear!"

"Why'd you even ask her if you're not interested?" Harry repeated.

"And come without a date?" Neville spat.

"Who cares if you have a date or not?"

Neville merely shrugged, and Harry sighed. "Well, you could claim your dance with Hermione, or come hang out with me and Ron, you know. I think Aoife from our dorms didn't find a date, either."

"I think Aoife has papercuts in place of hickeys," Neville grumbled.

"Sounds like a good match to me," Harry answered, straight-faced.

"Not right now," Neville chuckled softly. "I'll go wander for a bit, see if I can pick up a random dance or two myself, maybe go outside. Ron isn't that hard to find, and I'll just hope you're nearby."

Harry felt a prick. "Thanks," He drawled. "Rub your height in why don't you; just keep working at it, the soreness is still there even." Neville grinned at him, and Harry added," At least I don't knock myself out on tree branches."

Neville just shook his head and left, and Harry returned to the others. He didn't offer any explanation, simply listening as the song ended and a slow waltz stated. He knew how to waltz; it was better than most slow dances. He bowed shallowly to Susan.

"May I have this dance?"

She giggled nervously, glanced at Hannah and Hermione and accepted, letting him pull her close and onto the dance floor. They stayed out for the next two dances, and then Harry found himself dancing next to Alan. He caught Alan's eye twice, and then the band changed to a lively song, a kind of jig. Harry had never been particularly fond of a jig, but it suited his purpose at that moment.

Ignoring Susan's movement to step off the floor, Harry just grinned at her and pulled her closer, bringing himself around until he nearly mirrored Alan with Luna. Susan looked over his shoulder at him and gave him an alarmed look but he just smiled at her again and mouthed, 'Play along?'. She gave him a dirty look, but didn't pull away again – not yet. She wasn't much better at a jig than he was, and from the glimpses he got of Alan, he wasn't doing any better. It made him more confident in being able to pull this off.

They hadn't been dancing long when Alan made the first move. A long kick back, and Harry stumbled over his foot; his shin smarting where they'd made contact. Susan looked alarmed, but another hard grin stopped that – her alarm changed to consternation. She frowned at him and mouthed, 'Idiot' under the noise of the bagpipes. Harry chuckled and nodded, timing it to step back himself, nearly coming up against Alan's back, his leg straight between those of his friend. Alan jerked sideways, and hopped over, favouring his left for a moment as he glared, a smirk still playing over his lips.

Susan rolled her eyes as Harry swung her around, jerking her head to the sidelines. Harry winced; he didn't want to give in, but he was trying to make up for the dinner conversation – he didn't want her to hate having come with him. He looked up to Alan and found he could tell what was going on. Suddenly, he bent and whispered something to Luna – and Susan suddenly tripped. Her mouth shot open in outrage, and she turned over her shoulder to glare at the innocently smiling Luna. Harry spun her away, trying to look concerned even as he was laughing. Susan tugged him back around, and, as she came up to Luna's side, she kicked out sideways and barely missed striking her leg directly. Alan tried to pull his partner away, but Luna hadn't seen: she stepped back and tripped herself.

The two girl's locked eyes, and all Susan's hesitation stripped away.

The competition continued in much the same vein. Alan's surprise was gratifying when Susan tripped him at one point. Harry wasn't surprised: Susan hadn't been much of a mellow Hufflepuff the whole time he'd known her. However, as the song wound down, Harry was trying to spin Susan, and Alan caught his ankle. He wouldn't fall on Susan; throwing himself back, he landed half-on Alan and caught himself with one hand on the ground. Alan, however, had come out better: he slid free and kept his feet, one hand still holding onto Luna. Dropping both hands back and glaring, Harry accepted Susan's help up as the students around them burst into applause. Alan straightened and shook out his leg. Harry spotted the difference immediately. Unencumbered by a robe, Alan had more freedom to twist away at the last second. With his knees trapped, Harry hadn't had the option to step anywhere near as wide so quickly.

He blushed as the applause went on, standing to bow to Susan and the crowd as one, and then disappearing towards the tables to keep anyone from seeing him blush. It wasn't long before Neville found his way over with two cups and a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies; Ron and Hannah followed, with a cup each and one for Neville.

"That was wicked, Harry!" Ron crowed. "I couldn't believe you could keep that up!" Hannah slipped to Susan's side to carry on a hushed conversation with much giggling, Susan's face glowing with her smile.

"What were you doing, trying to trip each other every other step?" Neville asked.

Harry grinned. "Of course, what did it look like we were doing?"

"I'm surprised Ginny isn't over here to congratulate you." Ron leaned over to grab a cookie.

"I'm not." Harry shrugged. "Zabini is Prince's best friend."

Ron spat his juice and cookie over the tablecloth. "What was he doing asking my sister to the Ball, then?"

Harry raised his eyebrow. "Apparently he likes her. Something got him over her 'low born' family."

Neville snorted. "He probably finally realized he was the apple of his mother's eye."

"As to why he's not here," Harry added, "he's probably congratulating Prince on his win."

"Wait," Ron frowned in the middle of his bite, "you lost?"

Hannah coughed; Susan burst into giggles and Neville lowered the cookie he'd grabbed. Harry shoved his into his mouth to stifle his urge to stick out his tongue as Ron's oversight. Hermione and Viktor saved them from answering, their friend sitting down and frowning at him as her eyes laughed.

"That was a really foolish thing to do Harry; you could have seriously hurt each other! You did really well, though; I'm sorry you lost."

Harry swallowed. "It's fine, Hermione." He politely ignored Ron's startled expression that apparently everyone else had seen it before him. "He nearly choked himself at the last minute; it was the goddamn trousers that gave him the win."

Hermione snorted.

"You are a very good dancer, Harry." Viktor put in. "You did very vell dancing vith him. Are you friends with Prince?"

Harry coughed as he inhaled juice and swallowed hard. Giving it a minute to go down, he figured out his answer. "Hell no; we're rivals. He's only getting it easy because he's in the tournament this year. Normally we're at each other's throats, but Dumbledore doesn't want me putting any pressure on him."

Viktor nodded with a small smile. "Sometimes that is more fun. He does make a good rival. I hadn't thought he could do this tournament, but he's doing very vell. He did vell against the dragon; didn't flinch. I do not know how he escaped the flames; I don't know any spell to do that."

Harry carefully sneered. "It was all show. He's so American it's disgusting. Everyone knows how arrogant they get."

Viktor nodded warmly, smiling wide. "Some vould say the British are the same."

Harry grinned and rocked his chair back on two legs, bringing his cup up in toast. Viktor, Ron, and Neville copied the gesture before drinking. The cups returned to the table, the girls clustered and, if Harry knew Susan, rolling their eyes, and he sat forward to ask,

"How do you handle being a Quidditch star with school? You're flying is amazing; my mother would kill me if I tried a Wronski Feint where she could see."

Viktor stiffened, but Harry sat back and shrugged, turning to drink again. He didn't press, and Viktor pulled out a chair with a glower. "I alvays loved flying, so it's no struggle to be on the team, and put in the hours. Hermione tells me you are a Seeker as well."

Harry nodded and allowed himself a proud smile. "Gryffindor House Team, since second year. I've never been beaten to the Snitch yet; Prince's the most challenge I've had, and I'm sure he cheats. He's not half the player I am; he's just lucky, and good on a broom." He knew Alan only played to compete against him; he had hinted he cheated, but Harry hadn't gotten the truth out of him yet. Pulling away from the topic of Alan, Harry turned again to Viktor. "Look, if you don't want to discuss it, it's fine. I understand some; I've had people shake my hand just because my parents are Order of Merlin. I'm nothing like my dad; I don't give a damn about them." Harry bit off the complaint and turned away. He was getting a bit loose-lipped if he was saying that. Something was bugging him and he didn't know what; he just had the strong urge to talk to Alan. They had barely had any time to just talk since the Tournament began; no time at all to just toss words idly around. It had all been about the tournament.

Viktor relaxed slightly. "I can understand a dislike of people."

"Yeah." Harry shrugged again. "Actually, I'm getting rather warm. If you wouldn't mind, I'm going to step outside. Susan?" Harry turned and found Susan with her head right next to Hannah and Hermione's. She looked up, her face beet red. Harry ignored it. "I'm going to step outside. Do you mind me leaving you here? I'll find you again if you want to go dance some more. I just need some fresh air."

"Sure, go ahead." Susan beamed a little too enthusiastically. "Go right ahead. I'll be here for a while, let my legs relax. Go get your air; you do look warm. That fabric tends towards it, doesn't it?"

He did flush then, but he stepped away before Viktor could pursue it. He crossed the floor with quick movements, scanning the crowd for one person in particular. He deliberately picked a door past him, leaving for the lighted grotto outside. He wandered through it, watching the door and eyeing the secluded nooks around. There was a corner at the edge shrouded with several thick bushes, out of the light and not easily accessed. He tucked himself away and waited.

Someone came out whistling a tune Alan had called 'Dixie'. Harry struggled not to snicker and responded with the first few lines of 'God Save the Queen'. Alan shifted to what Harry more clearly recognized as the American National Anthem and Harry cheekily went into the opening bars of 'O'Canada'. He could hear someone stop and move around the bushes to slip in. He could hear the frown in Alan's voice.

"You're lucky I remember how you whistle. I thought you were going to complete the tune."

"To your National Anthem?" Harry asked sceptically. "I don't know any of it past the first line – Actually, I couldn't even tell you the words to that much! I _do_ know 'O'Canada' and I thought you'd get the gist. They're close enough."

Alan made a disgusted noise and leaned against the wall at one side of the available space. "So anyways…"

The silence held and stretched. Harry was comfortable with the proximity and wondering what exactly he'd wanted to ask. He hadn't really had anything in mind; he'd just wanted to be near his friend. He cleared his throat and quietly offered, "I've missed you." He almost coughed again at the sappy words and added, "I think I'm getting out of practice." He ignored the soft chuckle from Alan and continued, "Is the tournament that time-consuming?"

They were close enough on the wall for him to hear Alan's shrug his jacket against the worked stone. "I still haven't figured out the second clue. I've been working on it."

"What is it?"

"Loud, screechy wailing. Very loud; hurts the ears, and it's so far indecipherable."

"You can't think what it could be?"

"No. It's no creature I can think of; not a banshee, or even a jabberworky. I've tried every translation spell and cantrip I can find."

"Would the translation spell work if it was a creature?"

"Only works on human tongues." Alan frowned. "What creatures sound like that?"

Harry couldn't answer. He was running through the ones he did know, and none of them matched. The only possibility he'd come up with so far was a jabberwocky, and if Alan said it wasn't one of those, he'd know. Out of ideas, he shrugged, "Maybe try Luna? Maybe a crazy point of view will give you some insight."

"She's not crazy, Potter."

Harry winced and didn't respond. Alan was right; he was being unfair. Luna wasn't crazy; she was just odd – odd like him and Alan being friends was odd. He let Alan leave first to wander into the grotto and waited outside for a while afterwards. They'd made the mistake leaving too close together last year; he wasn't going to have the rumours about them start up again. That was the last thing Alan needed on top of this tournament, was to be accused again of sleeping with Harry.

Seriously. They both liked girls.

With the thought of Susan on his mind, Harry ducked back out and went to go find her again.

IIII

Alan went straight to the circle of Father Christmas and his reindeer, taking only a glance back to see if Harry had slipped out yet – the Gryffindor disappeared down a different path, and Alan felt the worry slip off that they hadn't been seen. The Ball was almost over, and he needed to get back to Luna – she had promised to sit and wait, and something made him sure she'd sit and wait even if the Ball ended before he got back.

What really unnerved him was whether to be flattered or concerned that he felt that way – both that she would wait, and that he needed to return. Shelving it for later consideration, he re-entered the crowd and chuckled to himself. For someone who didn't know how to dance, Luna had handled a lot of the dances he hadn't had time to go over quite well. He suspected he'd been played, but the lessons had gone so well. A frustrated Lucille was worth many rounds of hexing.

Luna was exactly where he'd left her, and he pulled her up for the last dance. After, as the band filed out, Alan offered Luna his arm to escort her up to her common room, still running Harry's suggestion through his head. While Luna wasn't crazy, she would definitely have a different point of view on the problem.

A _very_ different one.

Alan slipped Luna through several secret passages to lose the other couples nearby, and she brought up the Tournament herself.

"After you teleported away from the dragon, how is the egg? Has the nagpablaster hatched yet?"

Alan opened and closed his mouth twice before he came up with an answer. "It's actually got a clue in it for the next task."

"Oh." Luna tilted her head to look up at him – or some point two feet past his head, at any rate. "What is it?"

"Wailing. It's not a banshee, or any human language." He bit the inside of his cheek. If it was a code, he was going to need earplugs.

"Well," Luna patted his arm, "Lots of things communicate by wailing that aren't human. Haggasters, ghosts, Nellie, and whales all wail. Most water creatures do. My father is looking into it: he wants to talk to Nellie next summer."

Alan smiled. "I haven't tried water yet. Thank you, Luna." Impulsively, Alan leaned down and kissed her cheek, stepping back to look over her dress again. "That looks really good on you."

Luna smiled absently, her hand wandering to her cheek. "It was very nice of your Aunt. I hadn't brought any robes."

"It was no trouble. Keep it; she doesn't need it back."

Luna suddenly stared right at him, mouth open, "I couldn't."

He leaned and kissed her other cheek. "See you later!" He turned and walked away, grinning. Philana could be tight-fisted, but she didn't need it back. It was a girl's dress; she hadn't even had any girls, and if it was an Alfaerus garment, they had enough money to replace it with ease. He kept his hands in his pockets until he was out of the hallway; then he broke into a run. He needed to get to Severus before he dropped off to sleep: that was the only place he knew that had a deep bath.

He hit the door and popped it open in time to see a tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man standing by the fireplace.

"Dad-" Alan began, then stopped. Severus didn't have shoulders like that. He frowned, "Louis? Why are you here?"

Louis turned around and sighed. He pointed to the far door, then snapped his fingers.

"-_Indecent, careless imbecile_! _You did that on purpose_; _that was three grams of saffron_! _SAFFRON_! _Do you have any IDEA how much that COST_?_ It could have gone to eight_-"

"_It's an experiment_. _It happens_._ I'll get you more_;_ it doesn't cost that much_._ I've had obsidian beetles that cost TWICE that_-"

Louis pressed his hand out flat again and the silencing charm went back up. He shrugged. "Green decided he wanted to know your education wasn't suffering. They went in, and they haven't stopped yelling at each other since." His mouth twitched. "It's a record. They haven't blown up anything serious yet, and it's been three hours. It's almost funny."

Alan shook his head. "I needed to ask Severus something."

Louis winced. "One moment." He stalked to the door and kicked it hard, his steel-toed boots making a hard sound on the heavy wood and denting it. Someone came over and jerked on the door. It stayed stuck fast. Alan wondered if he'd have to ask Louis to stop being a bastard when black sparks spattered under the door and it was hauled open. Alan immediately regretted asking Louis to open the door: Severus had his wand at Louis' throat.

"Do stop locking me out of my own chambers, _Journeyman Quintelyuv_. I have every right to behave as I will in here." He glanced past and frowned at Alan. "What is it, boy?"

"I need to use your bath." Alan asked quickly. "For the Tournament."

"A _bath_?" His brow dropped dangerously. "How is that going to help?"

He had a concise answer ready. "Water conducts sound differently than air."

"Fine. Two hours, then I kick you out. I have to sleep before I make a stupid mistake like-"

There was a muffled bang, and pale cream smoke billowed out the door and engulfed all three of them. Alan felt something tacky and damp settling on his arms as he held his breath, waiting for Louis to finish swearing. Severus cast something: Louis barked, "_Evanesco_!"

The smoke disappeared from the air. Alan raised his arms and swore: he was covered in a film of creamy-yellow fluid. He felt nothing – no burning, stinging or otherwise; just slimy. Louis was swearing under his breath still, and Severus looked ready to commit murder – Alan wasn't sure which of the brothers it was directed at. Louis caught Severus' shoulder as he stormed towards the door.

"If you permanently injure my brother, I will have you for my Mastery project, you got that? Go make sure he hasn't killed himself; I'll take care of Alan."

Severus glanced his way; Alan shrugged, and he ducked through the door into the smoke-filled room. Louis swore something about leaving idiots alone, and caught Alan's shoulders to look him over. Alan bore it with a boredom born of long experience.

"Take off your clothes."He snapped.

It was a standard order after an accident. Alan began to try to get the jacket off, but it wouldn't budge. He groaned. "Here, I'll be in the bathroom. Go into my dorm and get my golden egg, would you? The password is 'haberdashery'; ask for Zabini, Nott, Greengrass or Davis. They can get into my stuff."

Louis frowned and nodded, sending him to the bathroom with a word, "No water!"

"I've done this before!" Alan shouted back. "I'm not stupid, Louie!"

The door slammed shut, and Alan began the painstaking work of peeling out of the silk jacket, grateful the suit had been an expensive one with some stain-proof enchantments – whether they were industrial grade or not remained to be seen. They'd asked for them to be, but most weren't tested against accidents of Green's magnitude.

His shirt was plastered so tightly to his chest, Alan left it to work off his shoes and pants first. He was finally peeling his arms out of the sleeves when Louis walked in. Alan glared at him from where he sat in his boxer shorts.

"Knocking is appreciated."

Louis bounced the egg in his palm and laughed. "Since when? I changed diapers on you, and getting that cleaned off should be done under supervision anyways. There's nothing on you I haven't already seen, cousin."

Alan held his hand out silently for the egg and, once Louis tossed it over, jerked his thumb at the soggy jacket and pants. "Work on that, would you?"

"Get your shirt off. We can get you a new suit. I got the consistency out of Severus: Go wash. Water won't be a problem."

Alan set the egg down and went back to struggling out of his shirt, grumbling. He'd hoped it'd come off some easy way. "Is this going to be the same as trying to get off his last sticky smoke?"

"Since I'm still covered in it, I cannot say." Louis frowned. "Severus and Green aren't, or not as thickly at any rate, as they have been drenching each other out of irritation for the past ten minutes, and I need to step in before one or the other _drowns_ in that stupid lab. If you're not done once I get the two of them calmed down, you are sharing that bath – and I don't care if you want to be modest. I am not staying coated in this longer than I have to."

Alan grumbled and turned his back to start the bath filling with water and bubbles. Once he felt it was full enough, he turned to glare at Louis who threw his hands in the air.

"Change their diapers a few years back, and all of sudden they care. Go wash up, you brat."

Alan waited until he'd closed the door to throw a quiet alarm spell at it and begin to struggle out of his shorts. If this was like the last time, he'd want out of his clothes first – water was not going to help. It had taken him eight hours to get unstuck from his three layers – robe, shirt and pants, and his undershirt and boxers – after he'd jumped in a bath once the water clearance came around. He'd been nine-years-old, uncomfortable and impatient.

He learned patience fast.

He slipped into the large bath with gratitude. He dunked his head twice and snagged a washcloth and bar of soap to begin scrubbing gently at his face: his eyelashes had started sticking together. It wasn't until he'd shampooed his hair up for the third time that he turned around to regard the egg again. Letting the shampoo sit, he popped open the egg. It wasn't any different above the bath, so he dropped it in, looked down, and opted to rinse and shampoo his hair again before ducking after it. Finally feeling like his hair was close to being clean, Alan dove under after the egg and caught it, popping up to breathe before ducking under and pulling it open.

The words ran clear in the shadowy warm water.

'_Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching, ponder this:_

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss._

_An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour – the prospect's black_

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.'_

Alan surfaced quickly, staring at the far wall. They were going to be looking underwater. What was so coherent underwater? He couldn't name it – with his luck, it would be the giant squid. The lake was the only water nearby, but he didn't have a clue what was in it.

Shaking off the question of what, Alan ducked under to listen to the clue again. He considered a bubblehead charm, but it wasn't that long a song. He popped up again, grinning. He already knew how to survive underwater for a long time. The Bubblehead charm had been mandatory for returning to Green's labs after a disastrous Journeyman mistake with poison gas and an unlocked lab door. A six-year-old had been too short for the floating gas, especially once he'd let it disperse into the hallway, but it had killed everyone inside, nearly including Green – until Louis arrived on Alan's heels and brought him back, and contained the gas the ignorant child had inadvertently released.

Alan frowned abruptly. He'd have to swim in the _lake_.He spared a moment to shudder: he'd learned to swim in ocean surf and pools. He'd never gone much past his head. Just how deep _was_ the lake?

What was going to be taken? They wouldn't give him an hour time limit if it wasn't a reasonable expectation to get there and back in that time, and if he were going to lose it, they wouldn't take anything serious… unless they were setting them up, and not being serious about losing it.

Leaning back to float in the water, Alan tried to wrap his mind around the shape of the task ahead. He knew he'd have to swim, probably underwater – possibly deep underwater. He'd never done any diving in his life. He was a comfortable swimmer, but he had never pushed himself – usually hadn't been swimming, actually, more playing in the water. Were there limits to using the Bubblehead charm underwater?

And what were they going to take? Underwater… This was supposed to be a serious tournament; they wouldn't take something like a book, and they couldn't take his wand… What kind of thing would he sorely miss?

"Still nothing?"

Alan yelped and dunked himself as he shot up. Scrambling to brush the soap out of his eyes, he found Louis seated on the edge of the bath, completely unselfconscious about his nakedness. Alan flushed.

"I'm still bathing here!"

He slipped off the side and dunked himself. He hadn't taken off his fingerbone necklace, or untied his hair – just soaked himself and came back up with a shake of his head. "And I'm covered in tapioca again. I'm going to kill Thomas next time I see him. Tapioca..."

Alan wrinkled his nose. "Tapioca?"

"Concentrated, mixed with sediment and something like glue–"

"Enough. I get it. Here, you want shampoo?"

He turned and raised his hand to catch it as Alan threw it his way. Retreating until he could sit against the wall, Alan frowned, cradling the egg in his lap. When he saw Louis drench his long hair in shampoo and scrub it until he looked like he had a white afro, he dropped the egg under and popped it open as his cousin dunked his head. Louis stayed down for nearly a minute before popping back up.

"Interesting." His cousin offered, filling his palms again. "You're dealing with merpeople in the lake, I take it?"

"Merpeople sound like that?" Alan asked. "I'd figured out everything but what I was dealing with."

"I'm reasonably confident in it." Louis shrugged. "You don't get them on our side of the pond, so I've never run into them. Check with your father; he'll know if they're in the lake. And you might want to brush up on your swimming."

"Yes, _dad_." Alan sneered. "It's not been that long since I last went swimming."

Louis dunked his head again, completely ignoring Alan's tone of voice. Alan felt a pinch; he'd set that alarm for a reason. When he saw his head pop back up, Alan shot, "Next time don't disable my door alarms."

"I didn't." Louis shook himself, running his hand through his hair again and grimacing. "Shit, that's stubborn." He started the process again, his face an ugly twist. "You were too zoned to hear. I thought you'd heard, but then you startled like that and I knew you hadn't. What else was bothering you?"

Alan considered keeping his mouth shut, but Louis could be both stubborn and very useful. He wasn't sure if he was closer to Louis or his godfather. Louis was certainly the more dependable of the two. Alan valued his opinion, and trusted him.

"I don't know what they'll take either." Louis made a soft noise; he didn't believe him. Disgusted, Alan admitted, "I also don't know if the Bubblehead Charm will stand up that far underwater – I don't know how deep the lake is."

"And you've never swum very deep underwater." Louis pointed out. He dunked his head again, and Alan fumed. At least his godfather didn't poke his sore spots so damn often. Louis could be as tactless as his mother! Alan grabbed a body sponge and began to wipe down his arms and legs, trying to get the lingering sticky feeling off. Louis didn't say anything even when he came back up, not until Alan was finally putting conditioner in his hair and thinking about leaving.

"There's nothing preventing you from going to the lake and practising. It's not going to be any warmer in February. You'll do fine looking up the Bubblehead Charm yourself; I can assure you, it will work at the depths you're talking about." Louis tilted his head back and asked, almost idly, "Do you want me to be there again this time?"

Alan stalked to the far wall and found that Louis had brought in a terrycloth robe for him. He sighed before shrugging it on – he didn't have anything else. "Sure."

Louis' voice was amused as he added, "I think Ranvier might be able to make it, too."

Alan couldn't stop a smirk. "That'll be funny."

"She's a lovely girl." He was failing to keep the laughter out of his voice.

"She's a lovely girl." Alan agreed. "Right up there with braiding the tails of the horses of the apocalypse."

He shut the door on Louis' chuckling, drifting into the living room and finally smelling the distinct smell of tapioca. He shelved his idea to stay the night there and transfigured the robe into something a little less casual for the walk to his dorm. With the egg tucked under one arm, and a lot on his mind, he was ready to go to bed.

IIII

Harry was impressed. Ron had a detention lined up before the student body returned for the next term. He'd managed to prove to his brothers and the Gryffindor dorms that Weasleys have tempers not to be messed with – and that Ginny had inherited the full measure of it. After he'd been hexed with something unpleasant involving his own boogers trying to blind him, nobody else questioned why she'd accepted Blaise Zabini's invitation.

The last week of break was spent with books covering every surface in the common room as students struggled to catch up on their neglected homework. Neville had none: he'd done all his while avoiding asking Hermione to the Yule Ball. Harry, however, had to work feverishly to get it all put together.

He nearly lost his temper completely when Neville reminded him they had Care on the ninth – he was sick and tired of working with Skrewts when he only had three days left to finish his Potions essay or get a strip torn off him by Snape. Thus, he was in a foul mood as they left Herbology and came down to Hagrid's hut for their next lesson. His temper shorted out immediately when he say a dumpy, greying woman waiting for them instead of Hagrid himself – and not a skrewt in sight.

"Follow me." The woman snapped. "I'm Professor Grubbly-plank, your temporary Care of Magical Creatures professor."

Harry followed, curious, and trailed Ron as he pulled to the front – letting his tactless friend ask first. "Professor, where's Hagrid?"

"Never you mind, son." She snapped. "None of your business."

"Hagrid's our friend!" Ron insisted.

"Never you mind!" The professor snapped again and put out her arm to stop them. Harry looked forward finally and stopped, staring in awe at the unicorn tethered before them in a clearing just past the Beauxbatons carriage. "Boys, stay back. They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns do."

Harry pulled Ron back from trying to get her attention again, leaving Hermione to join the rest of the girls by the gleaming white unicorn. The teacher moved forward to stand between the two groups, keeping an eye on the girls as she spoke loud enough for the boys to hear as well.

Harry was trying to pay attention, but his attention drifted to Alan, who was looking like his mind was a thousand miles away. Just short of him, Malfoy was eyeing him and Ron with a smile that couldn't be good. Harry gave him glare for glare, and Malfoy came only close enough to throw a paper to the ground and hiss,

"Missing your giant buddy? Maybe he's too ashamed to show his face!"

Ron bent to pick it up before Harry could tell him not to. Once he'd suffered no ill effects, however, Harry moved closer to read over his shoulder. He got as far as the title before he immediately twisted around to glare at Malfoy before he continued down.

"Half-giant?" Ron paled, torn between horror and scepticism.

Harry mouthed it himself, then shook his head, cutting on Ron's panic, "Clearly he didn't get _that_ set of genes."

Ron paused a moment, thinking it over. "Maybe. His creatures are sure the most dangerous thing about him. Maybe he likes not being worried about them."

Harry laughed, and twitched as Grubbly-plank summoned their attention again. Malfoy's smug look faded as Harry and Ron folded up the article and brushed the whole matter aside.

After class, as the rest of the students were enthralled by the lesson about unicorns, they regretfully ruined Hermione's joy by placing the article in front of her. Neville joined them just as she was finishing.

"Hagrid's half-giant?" She whispered. Neville dropped hard into his seat and jerked the article over.

"No way! How the _Hell _did she overhear; I didn't find anyone …"

Neville," Harry whined. He was dancing around something again. The brunet flushed and explained.

"Yesterday I was in the grotto after Padma ran off and came across Hagrid talking to Madame Maxine. He was asking about her parents, because they're clearly two of a kind, and then the big oaf said it clear out loud that he was half-giant. I hadn't _meant_ to overhear, but after they stormed back inside – Madame Maxine was highly offended, even though it's plain as day she's the same – I looked around and couldn't find any trace that someone else had been there."

Ron glared at Neville. "And you didn't tell us?"

Neville glared right back. "I wasn't supposed to have overheard it myself, Ronald. I'm not going to start blabbing about something I'm not supposed to know. I didn't think someone else was going to do it. How'd you like some of your secrets known?"

"I don't keep any."

"Alright, fine," Neville glared. "What if you didn't want us to know you were afraid of spiders? You want me hollering that down the hall without your sayso?"

Ron turned red, and straightened. "Just because you can't face your fears doesn't mean I care! You and Harry were too _scared_!"

Neville turned white; Harry felt the blood drain from his own face. Harry kept his head down and coughed lightly, trying to think of an excuse – _any_ excuse – to leave lunch and take Neville with him. His brother didn't so much as twitch before he turned on Ron again.

"My fears are worse than any of yours, Ron." He growled. "You could have backed down, but all you face is a childhood phobia. My fear is painfully real, and so is Harry's. They're not something either of us wants to share. Excuse me."

He stood up, and Harry didn't stay; he followed suit, leaving his lunch behind – he wasn't hungry anymore. They got to the Entrance Hall and slowed down, beginning a slow walk to Arithmancy. Neither of them spoke for a long time, until they were standing on either side of the door to their next class.

"Ron is such a prat." Neville complained quietly.

"He doesn't understand." Harry shrugged. "He's scared of _spiders,_ Neville. They can't kill him."

"That acromantula could've." Neville argued. "But you're right. Most can't. You…"

"Neville, just don't." Harry wrapped his arms around himself and sighed. Thinking of it still made his heart pound.

"_You're a disgrace! What kind of son are you, you're nothing like me! You're not worth being my son; you never could be! Stupid, lying cheat, making me think you were worthy of being mine! I never want to see your face again, you liar!"_

He cut off a whimper and rocked his head back against the wall. He turned to his bag and fished out a book, pulling it open without even looking to see what book it was. Neville didn't speak; he wouldn't, Harry knew, until he let him know he wanted to talk again. He never had in the past; he didn't intend to anytime in the future.

Neville's fear, as the class had seen, was something easily understood. Death Eaters had tried to kill his parents when he was very young. Death Eaters had nearly torn them apart.

Remus never would have hurt his friend and let the whole class see that James' own son was afraid of him. Harry knew Remus had never even told his father; he hadn't even thought of it. It wouldn't do any good, after all.

* * *

A/N: And here we go again, on time. I appreciate all the people who are keeping up with the story now, and hope you enjoy it in the long run too.  
Please review if you favourite!

Fire & Napalm


	23. Chapter 23

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Twenty-three**:

The end of the week was a Hogsmeade weekend, one Harry was glad for. It was quite amusing to see that Neville had returned to his place at Hermione's side, drifting off on their own towards Flourish and Blotts as Harry took Ron through Zonko's and Honeydukes before heading into the Three Broomsticks to meet up once more. He and Ron had barely claimed seats for themselves when a tall, thin blonde woman came up, her face precise and stretched in the fakest smile Harry had seen in a long time. While he couldn't put a name to her face, he could guess why she was there.

Unfortunately, she recognized him and homed in on his table with unerring accuracy.

"Harry Potter! Rita Skeeter, from the Prophet. I've had a delightful time interviewing your father before, but here you are: at Hogwarts during this momentous event. But there's a hitch: How do you feel that an underage Slytherin has cheated his way into the spot of Hogwarts Champion? Do you think it's fair he gets to represent your school against the foreign institutions? Is it true you and Alan Prince have a long-standing rivalry in the school?"

Harry cursed his lack of glaring power: Alan had assured him it was coming along, but it seemed green eyes didn't have the same power as Alan's sharper face and dark eyes. Then again, reporters were probably long since immune to such things.

"No, Ms Skeeter, I don't have anything to say to you."

"Why not?" She twirled her brilliant green quill. "He's not doing you any favours. He cheats his way in, and now he's already cheated on the tasks. He's set himself up for the thousand galleon prize and national recognition, and you get left in the dust. Surely anyone else would have been better – maybe even you if you'd been allowed the same chance as him."

Harry gave Ms Skeeter a chilly smile, thanking every god he could think of that Ron hadn't jumped and said something himself. Even if Harry's rivalry had been as fervent as he pretended, he wouldn't turn him over to this harpy.

"Is a cheater the way your old housemates want to be remembered?"

Ms Skeeter's smile chilled as quickly as his had. "I see you think the same way your father does. Well, do you have anything to say, Wesley?"

"It's Weasley." Ron growled. "And no, I don't. I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire."

Ms Skeeter stood abruptly and gave them a brilliant smile. "Marvellous. I'll see you around, then." She swept away, her photographer following with hurried steps. They passed Neville and Hermione on their way in, and the two located their booth easily, coming over to join them. Neville's eyes followed her out and he immediately turned to Harry,

"Lemme guess, reporter, asking for dirt on Prince because of your well-known rivalry?"

"Rita Skeeter herself." Harry bitterly nodded. "Who else would they come to but his Gryffindor rival – especially a 'Potter', who have such well-respected and well-known opinions on Slytherins of all kinds." He bit his tongue and looked away again. He was slipping in his opinion a lot.

Someone snarled from the door. Harry turned, standing and freezing.

Alan was face-to-face with Rita Skeeter, his black eyes snapping with anger. "Look," He sneered, "You slimy _bitch_. Back off – shut up – and cut the _shit_, already. I'm not wasting my time on you. I don't talk to reporters."

The Slytherin had the attention of the entire clientele of the Three Broomsticks as he stalked in and stared around until he spotted an empty seat and dropped into it. He stiffened immediately; Harry turned back to the door and closed his fist impotently. Rita Skeeter was coming back in.

Alan clearly wasn't in the mood. He shot to his feet and stalked back towards the door, running into Rita halfway there. He moved to brush past her, but she caught his arm. He spun on her, lip curled and his shoulders squared.

Rith didn't even flinch. She only smiled, a glitter in her eye. "Does the name 'Sophia Adamidis' mean anything to you?"

Harry froze; Adamidis, he'd heard that name before... Philana, wasn't it? Alan's aunt... Alan's _unmarried_ aunt... She wouldn't; she couldn't… She wouldn't dare!

Alan relaxed. Harry's hackles went up, and he unconsciously settled further back in his seat. Alan looked so relaxed, and Harry knew without knowing why that Rita had crossed a line, and she couldn't have been Slytherin if she did not notice.

"Ms Skeeter." Alan smiled, a cold, clinical smile. "If you want to piss off Philana Adamidis, be my guest. You might want to put stock in St. Mungo's while you're at it." He tore his arm from her grasp, stepping back and shaking out his coat before spinning and striding briskly out the door. He brushed past Ginny and Blaise on his way out; Blaise didn't even look at him, although Ginny did in passing. Blaise only turned similarly cold eyes to Rita Skeeter, then bent to whisper in Ginny's ear as he turned and steered her straight back out the door. Skeeter was too focused on her zooming quill to bother.

Harry knew Alan was going to be attacked by her eventually for brushing her off, and he hated the helpless feeling it engendered. However, he wasn't the only one feeling that way.

"That horrible bitch." Hermione hissed under her breath. "Attacking him like that, when he was just trying to get some peace. C'mon, I don't want to sit here with her; let's go do something productive."

Perplexed, Harry and Neville exchanged looks and followed Hermione out of the pub. Ron followed late, jogging to catch up and jumping on Hermione as soon as he found the breath, "What are we _doing_?"

"We're dragging Hagrid out." She announced. "He's been hiding too long because of that stupid bitch."

Harry fell back a step and leaned over to Neville, "She's been hanging around you way too long, Neville."

Neville smiled back. "I find it endearing."

"You would." Harry smiled. "Your mother swears like that."

"Oh no." Neville shook his head. "My mother swears worse than I do."

They trekked up to Hagrid's door, and Hermione began pounding on it. "Hagrid, open this door at once! No one who matters cares your mother was a giantess, Hagrid, so open up and let us in! Don't you _dare_ let that horrible Skeeter woman get to you; she's a stupid cow, so open this door!"

Finally, the door was pulled open and Hermione opened her mouth to continue her lecturing until she saw that it was Dumbledore, not Hagrid, framed in the doorway. She turned a fetching shade of pink. Dumbledore, however, merely pulled the door wide and waved her and everyone in. They all pulled up chairs by Hagrid's sides.

"Hi Hagrid." Harry began. Neville and Ron echoed him, and Hagrid sniffed loudly and waved gently back. Dumbledore magicked up more cups and poured four more cups before taking a seat himself.

"I presume you heard what Miss Granger was shouting outside, Hagrid?" Hagrid nodded slowly at Dumbledore's benevolent tone. "Judging by their attempt to break down your door, I'd say these children still want to know you."

"Of course we do, Hagrid!" Ron insisted. "You just…" He stopped, unsure.

"Need to tone down the creatures again." Neville finished. "Like you did the beginning of third year, remember?"

Harry caught Neville's eye and smiled, remembering going over the book he'd chosen after his distress over the Hippogriffs.

"The only part of giant you got is your build." Harry smiled. "It just means you have a bigger heart. You still make a great friend."

Hagrid blew his nose loudly into a handkerchief and put a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder. "I hear yeh, all of yeh. But … but yer not half-giant. Not everybody wants me back…"

Harry ducked out from under Hagrid's hand and rubbed his shoulder before he stood. "Hagrid, nobody will ever agree on who they like! Hell, people don't like my dad or godfather despite them trying to keep them safe! They're aurors, for crying out loud, and half the time they only get people complaining about what they do! I already lost one teacher because nobody thought he'd be good enough because he wasn't the right blood for it! Do you think Lucius _Malfoy_ could do a better job than you? No! He's not good enough for this job, and you know what?" Harry threw his hands in the air. "Hell, your giant blood makes you even _better_ at it! There's not much that can stand up to you if you put yourself to it, so aren't we _safer_ because of what you are? All those whiners haven't put an ounce of thought into it! They're just a bunch of stupid loobies!"

Harry came out of his rant and realized Hagrid wasn't the only one staring at him now. Hell, Dumbledore was staring at him again, and that was the last thing he wanted. He'd shed most of the old man's regard when Alan's candidacy for the prophecy was made clear, but not all of it. He didn't need to reignite it himself. He stepped aside and mumbled an apology, but Dumbledore brushed it off.

"Things like that need to be voiced, Harry. The world does not realize how unjust we can be when we wish for everyone to be the same. Thank you."

Harry mumbled something else incoherent and stared at the fireplace instead. Dumbledore thought he was brave. Why did that make him want to smash something?

The Headmaster straightened. "I will not accept your resignation, Hagrid, and expect to see you at breakfast on Monday, no excuses. Good evening, children." He swept from the hut, leaving them to reassure Hagrid of their continued interest.

Wiping his face, Hagrid muttered, "Great man, Dumbledore… Great man."

Harry shoved aside the part of him that didn't agree and kept on smiling.

IIII

It was a month closer to the second task before anything really stood out. Harry knew Alan was working hard not to be as distracted with him as he had been before the first task, and he appreciated it.

There had been no articles about Sophia – Alan's mother, as he had clarified – in the papers, very little at all, in fact, from Rita Skeeter of any import to them. Alan refused to discuss the possibilities, and so Harry had dropped the topic. He didn't say much about the second task either, and Harry didn't press.

As it was, the week before the task Harry and Alan were sitting in the library and playing the give and take game Alan had come up with, of insinuations and subterfuge. Harry was stretching, thinking about the most recent barb about his Quidditch skills – something regarding a half-blind manta ray and fish poop. He wasn't sure he wanted to pick that one apart, but finally he tried,

"What's to notice about fish shit in the water; do the roofs in Slytherin leak that badly?"

Alan glanced up from his book, a smile playing across his face before he shrugged, "Did you get stuck in the common room with a dancing green cobra for a boggart, Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and turned away hard. Alan sighed. "That's a loss, Potter."

Harry twitched, feeling even worse. He was supposed to handle the give and take with little to no emotion except perhaps amusement. That he'd reacted so badly was a big loss; he'd usually run into trouble by bursting out laughing. It'd been a long time since something had stung that badly, but, "Don't bring my boggart into this, Alan!"

"What do you care?" Alan eyed him carefully. "Surely it's changed by now."

"No, it hasn't."

His friend dropped his chair back to all four legs and frowned. "Seriously? You still can't stand the thought of your dad finding out? Merlin, Mary, and Mordred; I'm not even sure Severus hasn't guessed our friendship by now. Is your dad that blind?"

"He's not going to find out, Alan!" Harry spun on him. "It's not something he needs to know!"

"You mean, you don't want him to know." Alan's eyes snapped. "You're still scared shitless of him."

Harry had forgotten Alan had guessed his boggart two years ago. What was Alan's, something about a death? Whatever it was, it wasn't half the bomb his was. He'd been happier not remembering that fact.

"You don't understand, Alan." Harry shook his head. "Nobody's hated something like that in front of you."

"Nobody I care about, you mean." Alan corrected idly. "Salem doesn't have much in the way of hate. A lot of crazies, a few temperamental idiots, but nothing serious like you've had issues with in Britain."

Harry sneered. "You were sheltered your whole bloody life, Alan."

"I've seen more people near death than you have, _Potter_."

Harry winced, but he didn't take it back. Alan _was_ sheltered; it was something Harry had put together over the three years he'd known him. Alan was very permissive, very naive. He thought things would be fair; not safe, but fair. He'd been the one to accidentally out Remus as a werewolf to the school last year because he hadn't thought it was a problem.

It seemed it wasn't just werewolves he didn't understand.

Alan was frowning at him again. "Is that why you never asked Daphne to the ball? Because she's a Slytherin?"

Harry shook his head. "I wasn't going to subject her to that. The school would tear her apart."

Alan sneered. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled you let your fear get in the way."

Harry grabbed his bag and stood, feeling scared, but feeling right. "Ask her that yourself. Would she accept a Gryffindor, whether she liked him or not?"

Harru turned and left, squelching a small voice that said that maybe Alan was just as right as he was. He hated the bigotry in the school. Did he think being 'safe' was going to change it?

He swallowed hard. He was running into a lot of those questions lately, and he didn't know what to do with them.

IIII

Alan sat on the edge of the lawn on the twenty-fourth and eyed the water. He was still wrapped warmly in a long robe over a pair of racing swim trunks Louis had delivered last month after he'd worked out the clue. He was very unhappy with the prospect of the task ahead: the water was freezing, dark, and very very deep. He'd done some swimming in it, but not a lot. It was simply too cold, and too frightening. He hadn't thought he'd sleep the night before: he suspected Severus had drugged him so that he would.

It was too late now to practise. He was going under the water whether he liked it or not.

The announcers were milling around, watching the champions seated at the water's edge and the spectators gathered in the stands above. The announcement of what had been taken had not yet happened, but Alan had a good guess: Velorian Mayfair was seated next to Louis in the stands, alongside Andrew's vampire mentor, Koreol. Andrew himself wasn't with them. Alan was struggling with how to feel. His best friend had been trapped underwater, but exactly what part of that could kill a vampire?

Then again, the other two champions also had hostages taken that probably _were_ vulnerable. He hoped Dumbledore was as good as everyone claimed.

Bagman cleared his voice and started the announcements. "The champions have gathered to begin their task, which will lead them on an underwater hunt for that which was taken from them, the person they will miss the most! For Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger."

Alan twitched with the rest of the crowd and looked over at Viktor curiously.

"For Fleur Delacour, Gabrielle Delacour."

Alan nodded, presuming a sister. He suddenly felt a jolt of unease.

"For Alan Prince, Andrew Mayfair."

He received the most murmurs yet. He sighed, resigned to another bout of rumours. Not everyone would think it was simply his friend.

"The champions will enter the water in a few moments, giving them that time to prepare. They have the time limit of one hour to regain what was taken. Champions..."

Alan shrugged out of his robe and stood, quelling the butterflies in his stomach with difficulty. He double-checked the spell on his hair, keeping it back and out of his way, and adding a warming charm to his skin. He moved up to the water's edge beside Viktor and Fleur, swallowing hard. They were spaced ten feet apart on the bank.

"Three... two... one... _Go_!"

Alan stepped into the shallows and moved out, confident in this part. His wand was tucked against the inside of his wrist, overlapping the joint enough to use it for simple spells – provided he didn't mind the restricted motion. He cast the Bubblehead charm like it was second nature, and, once he was out over his head, he tucked his wand back under and went beneath the surface of the dark lake.

It was murky under the water, and deep. The cold pressed against the warming charm and the water clutched at his sides. He had to adapt to how to swim in the depths, struggling until he got into the rhythm of how to propel himself forward and down against his natural buoyancy. He shivered, but pressed forward.

Soon enough the muddy ground shifted and forests of kelp jumped in front of his face. Startled, he went up, giving himself space beneath him to avoid the wavering black arms reaching out for him. He struck forward and kept his distance, moving through the grey light with his heart thundering in his chest.

Later, after a bad scare with a looming log, he stopped and tugged his wand out of his wrist brace. A short spell pointed him towards Andrew – out into what he presumed was the middle of the lake. He twitched his aching legs and conjured a pair of flippers as best he knew how. He kept them small – he really didn't know anything about flippers – but he found them effective in increasing his propulsion. Conjuring was a tentative skill so far, but his work would easily last an hour – if he went outside that, he was going up and damn the consequences. The time he'd spent so far was bad enough; Andrew would survive if he ditched him.

The passage over a field of short green weed was smooth – rustles below were the only sign of potential trouble as he kept his rule of staying well overhead. He licked his lips and kicked harder, his legs beginning to throb warningly at the unaccustomed exercise.

The green field gave way to black mud. He thought he glimpsed a silvery wraith further on in the water, but it could have been anything, like the silvery fish he had in shallower water. He kept even further above the black mud than the green weeds, completely unnerved – either from the fear of the unknown, or memories of failed potions experiments. It didn't really matter. Everything was making his heart pound now, the thought of the crushing water overhead blinding him whenever he thought too long on it. He didn't want to think how painful it would be if he wasn't spared the pressure by the charm about his head. His body was already unnaturally tight.

He paused and fumbled out his wand again, casting 'point me' towards Andrew and finding himself off track. Correcting his aim, he pushed himself forward once more. He felt a burst of joy as he heard a song once again from the merpeople; though half the time was gone, he was close. Getting out of here was the best thought on his mind; it couldn't be nearly so hard as coming down.

He came upon a small village and almost halted in place, the faces peering from the curtains making his skin crawl. He scolded himself sternly and pressed forward, thinking only of finding Andrew; he would surely somewhere obvious, like the middle. He tried to ignore the bizarre scene around him, moving into the circle of the aggressive choir with his eyes locked on the figures secured around the tail of a statue. Hermione's bushy hair mingled with the fine strands of a small blonde. The last was Andrew, lanky and just as blond as the girl. He looked restless. Sleep was not a comfortable state for him for any period of time. Four hours had been the max Alan had ever heard of.

With a cautious eye on the merpeople, Alan urged himself over and drew his wand once more, silently severing the ropes tying him to the statue. With the vampire's dead weight dragging down his arms, Alan cursed, but struggled back the way he'd come with a little help from a 'point me' aimed at Louis. The thought to wake his hostage passed idly through his mind. Andrew had absolutely no natural buoyancy from his natural inclination not to breathe, but he swam just fine when he was awake.

Deciding against it, Alan swam hard to get the Hell out of there. He got out into the fields of black mud, arching quickly for the surface. He turned his face up, and something brushed his cheeks. He blinked – and pain exploded across his head. He screamed, water rushing down his throat, his hands dropping from Andrew's shirt to clutch at his ears. He rolled over in the water, twisting – he couldn't tell which was was up, couldn't see past the pain, couldn't _breathe_. Something was wrong; something simple, so simple,_ he was in so much pain–_

Someone grabbed his shoulders, caught his wrists, and tugged his wand from his arm. Alan jerked it back- _His wand_. Clutching it with numb fingers, he cast the Bubblehead Charm out of reflex and gagged up the water choking him, air soaring into his lungs as the water came back up. He struggled to draw in breath, wheezing and gagging as his ears ached and rang. Blinking the tears from his eyes, he met the pale gold eyes of Andrew. The vampire watched him as he kicked steadily towards the surface, his arms holding Alan tight against his chest. Alan took a moment, wondering... What was he doing? The task, underwater, fetching Andrew... the charm failed.

That was impossible. Someone had cancelled it.

Someone had tried to kill him.

Tugging his arms, Alan glared at Andrew and pressed against his grip. Andrew frowned, but he let go, releasing him to move his aching legs – Alan felt bewildered for a moment, unsure what direction was up until he determined his best bet was to follow Andrew. While he wasn't sure what had gone wrong, he could guess what had happened: His eardrums had burst. His balance was shot, and so, to, could be his hearing until he saw a healer. He swallowed hard, wincing; he knew his arms were shaking as he struggled to keep up with Andrew's greater strength. His chest was aching, his throat feeling so raw, and his ears a solid, deep ache in his head. Something too warm to be water was trickling slowly down his neck.

Andrew maintained a steady course up and in one direction. Alan was too tired to ask; he was sick of water, sick of swimming, sick of the darkness... but the water was lightening ahead of them, and getting warmer too... his warming charm had also disappeared, worn off or cancelled, he didn't know... Strangely he'd kept his flippers, which should have been the first to go.

They burst into the air and Alan gasped even though he'd been breathing fine inside the charm. He felt a shiver in his head and turned towards the crowd, feeling small and cold inside as he could see the people waving and hear nothing. Glancing sidelong at Andrew, who was watching him, Alan cancelled the Bubblehead charm and bent forward to swim hard for the bank, leaving him behind: He was sore and tired. He wanted out. He wanted healed.

Andrew caught up fast, staying by his side as he came out of the water, his friend waving the people off as he stumbled out, drawing someone forward. Alan didn't pick out who it was until he looked up at Madam Pomfrey. The healer was outraged, waving her wand viciously around his head. He paused, reaching up and touching his ears. He came back with pink water with red streaks: his ears were still bleeding.

Large hands pressed a blanket around his shoulders, and Alan turned from Pomfrey's arms to bury his face in Louis' chest. He couldn't stop shaking. People touched his back and shoulders, but Louis kept one arm around him and Alan stopped fighting, stopped arguing. He didn't even know if the other champions were up or not. He didn't care. He just wanted to be able to hear again, and he was never swimming in another damn lake.

IIII

When the pale blond head came up first, Louis knew something was wrong. Koreol had already straightened beside him, his face suspicious. When Alan came up, Louis frowned and stepped out of the stands to go down and wait, ignoring the bureaucratic complaints. When he was closer, Louis saw the blood around his ears and froze.

His eardrums had burst. That should not have happened. Alan was looking around, confused and unsteady as the healer bore down on him. She was peppering him with questions he wasn't acknowledging, even as she brushed off Andrew's swearing – a typical response to the vociferous Mayfairs. With no hint of response, Louis picked up a blanket and laid it over his cousin's shoulders, pressing his hands down. Alan spun. Louis felt a pinch: his eyes were terrified and pained. He pulled Alan to his chest and ignored the healer's complaints.

"What's happened?" Louis asked her.

She glared. "His eardrums burst, and his inner ear may have also. I can heal it, but if it's both it'll take hours to heal it properly so his hearing returns. No loud noises, no rough-housing-"

"I know the precautions," Louis drawled. "My brother burst his enough I think I can handle it. Are you sure it won't be easy?"

"He was under twenty meters of water, you idiot!" She snarled. "He's lucky his skull wasn't cracked when his bubblehead charm failed! As it is, even his _eyes_ are bruised!"

"Hah, children!"

Louis turned to glare at the Headmaster of Durmstrang. The man continued his arrogant sneer.

"I knew it was a mistake. This is a contest of discipline; only fools cast spells they can't maintain."

Louis frowned at him, thinking – he preferred to take his time with insults. Someone else jumped on the offender while he thought

"Stop flapping your lips while you wait for your champion to get his ass in gear," Velorian spat. "We don't need more of your verbal diarrhoea. Alan can place and hold a bubblehead charm while his skin boils off; the only reason it would _possibly_ have failed was if someone _sabotaged_ him, and I know who _my_ money is on for _that_ one..."

"Velorian," Louis growled softly. The man turned and sneered at him, leaning against the bracework for the stands as his son stood to one side, talking with his mentor. "Koreol, what does Andrew say?"

The older vampire straightened and went to stand at Velorian's side. Andrew came back over and began to recite, "I went to sleep like a good little boy and stayed that way until something broke the spell. I woke up and found Alan drowning, so I tried to catch his wand and put back up the Bubblehead spell. He grabbed it back and cast it himself. I caught him under the arms and started swimming up as he pulled himself together until he pushed me away and returned to swimming himself. I'm not sure he remembered which way was up, he just followed me."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore put in.

Louis frowned at the man who had finally come over, and nodded. "Andrew doesn't lie. If you want to verify it, feel free to ask Koreol for permission. You're not pressing Alan for anything until he's better –" He cut himself off; the stands had burst into applause again. He attempted to turn and look, but the mediwitch snagged his shoulder and thrust a flask into his hand.

"Since you refuse to relinquish him, _you _make him drink this. Immediately!"

Louis fought down both irritation and amusement: now he knew how Green always felt. However, his bigger problem was still clutching his shirt tightly.

"Alan?" He tried. No response. "Alan, look up." He touched his chin and Alan's head rose, looking confused.

"Louis?" He said, his voice weak.

"Here." He held the flask where he could see it. Despite his discomfort, Alan was still enough of a teenager to look disgusted at the prospect. He accepted the flask anyways and touched the side at the halfway point. Louis shook his head, smiling.

Alan stuck out his tongue before he drank it down, wincing slightly as the steam began to shoot out his ears. After a moment, though, he blinked and smiled faintly. Louis tried not to smile himself. He knew Green had told him before that Pepper-Up and popped eardrums made an interesting, and not unpleasant, combination – sometimes ticklish.

With Alan seen to, Louis barely had time to step out of the way before Krum and Hermione were shown onto the bank and into Madam Pomfrey's clutches. Not far behind them was an exhausted Fleur Delacour, coming up alone and very upset.

Almost moments after being pushed aside by Pomfrey in favour of attending to Viktor Krum, Miss Granger turned and looked tentatively up at Louis where he was holding Alan.

"Is he alright?" She asked softly.

"He's fine," Louis answered curtly. "Or he will be soon enough. I believe Krum would appreciate your attention again."

Miss Granger turned pink and returned to the attentions of Viktor Krum. Fleur Delacour was shrieking and struggling towards the water, frantic about her sister. Louis sat down next to the damp form of Andrew, tucking the unresisting Alan against his legs. The other champions and Miss Granger were sat down as well, and it was only a few minutes before the merpeople popped out of the water, supporting the delicate blonde girl towards the bank. Miss Delacour darted into the water to pick her up and return her to the bank – fretful and apologizing rapidly in French.

With everyone accounted for, one of the merpeople broke off to communicate in high voices with Dumbledore. Louis put a silencing spell over Alan's ears, so nothing would disturb his hearing further as the healing slowly took hold. Severus came over with a handheld chalkboard and chalk, and Louis quickly wrote out, 'how are you doing?' and passed it down to Alan.

Alan blinked, took the board and scrubbed out his question. He wrote briskly, his writing sharp and sprawling as normal, and handed it back.

'Fine. Ears itch, but don't ache. Heard little before spell; nothing now. Is it over yet?'

Louis glanced over to where the judges were speaking, and wrote back, 'Score being decided now. Krum back after you; Fleur missed hostage. Her sister is fine.'

Alan nodded and scrubbed it out, handing back a short note, 'Please tell me the scores. How long till my ears heal?'

Louis scrubbed it out himself and wrote, 'Three hours for your ears. Damage was bad, but will fully heal.' then reclaimed the slate when Alan nodded and Mr Templar began his announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have deliberated and will award points out of fifty for each champion." He sent a short, dirty look at Mr Bagman. "Miss Delacour returned outside the time limit by ten minutes, without her hostage. She used the Bubblehead charm effectively, but was forced to abandon her efforts after being attacked by grindeylows. We award her twenty-five points."

The girl in question sniffed, stroking her sister's hair. Louis marked it down – name and points – and showed it to Alan.

"Viktor Krum arrived second of the champions, ten minutes outside the limit but successful in recovering his hostage. He used incomplete transfiguration to great effect. We award him forty points."

Louis restrained himself: he was not allowed to smack the Headmaster of Durmstrang no matter how much of an asshole he was. He sketched in Krum's points and showed it to Alan, waiting impatiently for the cheering to die down and for Mr Templar to continue.

"Alan Prince used the bubblehead charm and returned first, five minutes within the hour, injured, but under his own power, and with his hostage awake without leave. Evidence has been weighed and examined: there is evidence of foul play, that it was outside interference to cause the injury and the waking of his hostage. For his perseverance in spite of injury, and the successful foray down, we award Alan Prince forty-five points."

Louis smiled, quickly chalking that in as well. Alan looked at it and shrugged, leaning against Louis' leg. He felt a pinch of concern for the boy, but it wasn't unwarranted: Alan had already been apprehensive about the task. This was about the worst result it could have had. Idly, he wondered how long it would be before Alan ever went swimming again. He scrubbed the slate clean, pausing as Templar continued,

"The third and final task will take place on the twenty-fourth of June. The champions will be notified about what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

Louis continued with the message he'd intended anyways, handing it down to Alan. Alan read it and chalked in a small, 'Yes', before he tried to stand. Louis caught his shoulder immediately, bracing him as he got up. Alan gave him a dirty look, but it didn't faze him: Louis knew he would have trouble balancing, and he wasn't going to let him fall over. He wasn't sure he wanted to get into a firefight with the Hogwarts mediwitch.

"Hey," Andrew spoke up surprisingly softly. "May I stay over for dinner? Just until Alan is better?"

Louis turned to Koreol and found the man staring at Andrew intently. He shrugged it off – he'd never spent much time with the older vampire, but found him unnerving most of the time.

"Ask Koreol and Severus; it's his rooms. C'mon Alan." He gently pressed Alan's shoulder and got him following, his steps uneven and slow. Louis kept pace from long practise with those injured, and scanned the crowd as he came out to it. A block-like face passed by, and he called out, "Ranvier! Over here!"

The ponytail whipped around and the face which had been forbidding before brightened, almost beautiful. She caught up quickly. "Louis! You left without a word, and nobody would let me down after you."

He laughed. "Ranvier, if you so much as frowned at them they probably couldn't; their instincts wouldn't let them." She set her heavy jaw and gave him that infamous frown, but Louis was unmoved. "C'mon, we need to get Alan inside."

"Is he alright?"

"Busted ears. The sabotage removed his bubblehead charm when he was still near the bottom." He shrugged, wandering up the pathway with Alan comfortably at his side. "Shattered them as good as anything Green ever did."

"You and your brothers," Ranvier sighed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were crazy."

Louis smiled at her, catching a glimpse of Andrew darting through the crowd to catch up, his father and mentor behind, talking to Severus. He shrugged, and answered, "Yeah, but since you know us, you know we really _are_ crazy. Why do you think I like you so much?"

"Because any other girl would be all over your hot body every second she had the chance."

He blinked. "What do you define as 'all over me', then, if it's not what you do?"

She only smiled and pecked him on the lips.

IIII

It was Saturday evening after the task that Harry had company in the library. He broke out of his stupor and nearly came to his feet.

"Alan! Are you okay?"

The lanky Champion dropped into the chair opposite, a big smile on his face. "I'm doing great, really. It wasn't- wasn't that bad." He shrugged, turning away. "My eardrums healed within a few hours, and I got to enjoy Louis and Andrew's company overnight. I haven't seen them in too long."

"You looked dreadful coming out of the lake." Harry sighed. "Were your... your ears, did they really..."

"Bleed? Yeah. Pomfrey was of the opinion my head should've been crushed, but Louis is pretty sure that was just her overreacting." He looked up and added, "I'm quite confident Louis is the one in the right on that."

Harry finally allowed himself to relax into his seat. "So, you... Ready for the third task?"

Alan nodded, stretching up and yawning. "Oh yeah. I get to not worry at all until May. Sounds good to me." He tilted his head slightly. "Although that also means I need to figure out what on earth I'm going to do in the meantime. Ah well."

Harry smiled faintly, already feeling better himself. "Yeah, but we'll think of something." Alan smiled again and turned, quietly summoning a book off the shelf. Harry watched him for a minute. He hadn't been this happy for weeks since the Yule Ball. Something had been wearing on him; he hadn't shared, but Harry had seen it. Now, however, it seemed completely gone and that just didn't seem right. No matter what points he'd gotten, the task had been a disaster for him.

"Alan..." Harry began. "What's with the grin?"

Dark eyes glanced up at him. "What of it?"

"You just seem... inordinately pleased."

Alan shrugged. "It's probably Andrew. He's usually enough fun to put me in a good mood for a while after."

Harry scowled. "Even after that total disaster in the lake?"

There was the small shudder through his shoulders Harry had expected. Alan shook his head again and smiled at him. "Yeah, even that. Hell, he had me laughing after a really shitty burn too, while they were healing it. He's a good friend."

Harry frowned again, sighing. He pushed his concerns aside in the end: it wasn't his place to object. They were just friends. He wasn't supposed to be jealous... even if it didn't seem like jealousy he was feeling.

IIII

They met up in the library again the next day, at least until Harry heard his name being called nearby. Jumping, he quickly grabbed his two books and listened again, Alan packing up as well with a small frown.

"That sounds like Neville," Alan offered.

"Ah, crud," Harry swore, stuffing his books into his bag. "He's been trying to get my attention since yesterday, and now..."

"Go." Alan shrugged. "We'll have enough time to get together later."

Harry waved, already distracted, and slipped into the aisles nearby. He turned, scanning the book titles. What could he pretend to be doing, what would make sense? He reached up to check out what '_The Oblique Scan of Arithmancy'_ was about and flipped to the back. He'd barely finished one paragraph – none the wiser of what the book was about – when Neville cut in,

"That's advanced seventh year text, Harry. I tried checking it out last month. Couldn't get past the first page. It doesn't have anything about the essay next week, so you can stop trying to understand it. I've got a book you can borrow for that."

"Really?" Harry put the book back and tried to remember the subject of their essay and if he'd done it. "I don't think... Sorry, got distracted."

Neville laughed, sounding like he didn't believe him, but he moved on so quickly Harry knew he was just as preoccupied with something else himself.

"I've already finished the Camouflage book. Are you really worried about your essays, or do you want to steal away for thirty minutes and get started? I've got everything ready."

Harry turned with a bright smile. "Really? That easy?"

"To begin with." Neville grinned. "C'mon. I've scouted a classroom for it."

Harry tucked his books into his bag without another word and followed him out of the library, worries forgotten. He waited a minute before he asked, "Am I going to read the book myself sometime, or should it be pretty easy for you to help me through it?"

Neville slowed down so they could walk side by side upstairs and cocked his head. "It depends. Technically it could work if you wanted to just go through the motions, but that all depends on if something goes wrong. It would also require you to make the potion for the second stage, and that is really damn fiddly. My guess would be that's what took our parents so long, was getting the potion right for Sirius."

"Why did he need the potion?"

"His animal's semi-magical, and you have to learn the nuances and processes of your form, which can either be done through study – which would require you reading the book, and several others – or by the induced trance which can be done by spell, or potion. Since you're not that great a study spell-wise-" Harry made a small objecting noise Neville ignored, "-you'd want to have someone make the potion for you. I'd either go for your mum, or ask her to ask Severus to do it."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll get around to the bloody book, Neville, if you'll put it in my trunk already."

Neville grinned and pointed ahead. "There's the classroom."

They slipped into the abandoned room. The floor was clear of dust, but the stacked desks weren't. Harry frowned. "Aren't we on the sixth floor?"

"Yeah." Neville nodded. "It's the least used floor; more than half the rooms up here are abandoned."

"Wonder why..." Harry frowned and shrugged, "How do we start?"

It took Neville a moment to figure out which book in his backpack was the one in question. He also brought out a small pot of ointment. "Sprinkling of rosemary mixed with mugwort, catmint, dogwood, and henbane, dusted over the forehead before falling into meditation."

Harry scoffed. "Neville, I can meditate without henbane. It's poisonous!"

"We're not eating it," He objected. "And there's more to making it than that. Just, here." He handed over the book and pointed out the selection. "You'll probably be able to get more sense out of that than me. I just don't argue with what a book says."

Harry skimmed the selection, picking out what he needed. The sprinkling was created with an intent in mind, and, when applied to the skin around the senses, imbued the meditation with that intent... Finished, Harry rubbed his eyes and handed the book back.

"I am so not reading that book. I'll make the potion even if I turn into a common house cat." It wouldn't be hard to hand it off to Alan, if he could talk Neville into letting him give him the book. Alan was as good with Potions as his father.

Neville accepted it with a smile. "Fair enough." The smile twitched. "I had to go to Pomfrey for a headache cure halfway through myself."

Harry rubbed his eyes again. It had taken two pages to say what he could summarize into three simple concepts. He was so not reading that book. "You'd think our parents didn't want us to become Animagi."

"They may have picked the hardest book they could find." Neville shrugged. "Slow us down so we think. The final spell for this can be really dangerous to get wrong, so it's best to think it through. You're going to have to read that part at least, once we're through the first two stages."

"Whatever." Harry waved him off. "You've got the sprinkling?"

"Mhmm." Neville nodded, picking up the little pot. "Get comfortable and let's get started. It recommends you do it lying down. I've locked the door and set my alarm. You should find your animal undeniably within twenty-minutes to half-an-hour."

Harry shrugged and took off his robe, folding it to use as a pillow. Neville did the same before he worked the lid on the pot open. Harry closed his eyes as Neville rubbed some of the bristly herbs over his forehead, and then retreated. Harry squinted to see him doing the same to himself before he set the pot aside.

"So... we just relax?" Harry asked.

"That's what is says," Neville agreed. "So, if not," He yawned, "we get a half-hour nap."

Harry couldn't muster the desire to open his eyes either, and settled reflexively into his meditation breathing. He wanted to laugh, but it seemed to be too much effort. The smell of the herbs suddenly stung his nose, and he snorted, drifting off to grey fuzz.

He felt the transition from lying down to a deep trance only through long familiarity. The grey faded to darkness, and the darkness to trees – a familiar looking forest, dark with night. The ground was cold, and his breath fogged the air. He was panting, the brisk night spurring him onward, running – running hard. Everything was silent, the air musky with pine – the frosted leaves crunching underfoot. There was a whuffing sound behind him, heavy breath, the jingle of horse tack – a heavy-set man seated on a horse, and fellow dogs at his flanks. He eagerly led the pack, secure in the knowledge they were there. He leapt forward, plunging through the brush and coming out onto a beaten trail.

A leap over a fallen log, back into the underbrush, and Harry felt himself jerked out, floating up through the air overtop a bright, white dog marked with bright red ears. He felt a thrill of recognition, dropping down to watch it's headlong run. He could only guess it's height – large as a wolfhound, but heavier, it's coarse white fur thick against the chill. Bright red eyes stared fixedly ahead at something unknown. It was making a soft croon that Harry could barely hear right next to it.

Something pulled him to a halt, and suddenly the croon grew louder as the dog dove into a bush and snarled; three other dogs dove in after it, and the strange hunter passed him, wraith-like and unimportant. A fox darted out and dropped, the dog on its back, the snarling loud and clear, even as exhaustion swamped him again.

He jerked awake to stare at the dark, cobwebbed ceiling, blinking rapidly. He carefully wiped his forehead, taking with it a cold sweat and the scattered herbs. He glanced over and found Neville already awake, grinning so wide Harry could see the feathers.

"What'd you get?" Harry asked out of reflex.

"A horse. Dun Thoroughbred stallion. I could run for miles!"

Harry drew up his legs to face his brother. "Yeah, that sounds like you."

Neville rolled his eyes, "You?"

Harry bit his lip a moment, and shrugged. "You ever heard of the Cwn Annwn?"

Neville's eyes went wide. "No _way_! You serious?"

Harry gave him a disgusted look. "White hounds with red eyes and ears? How many of those do you see?"

Neville laughed. "You sure you're not Sirius' kid?"

Harry scrubbed his forehead and sighed. "Neville..."

"Seriously! How weird is that, two spectral hounds?"

"I don't even know what to do to figure out what it is. How am I going to research that?"

Neville shrugged. "Legends of Annwn? But no, you're going to need the potion. Double check with Sirius about it, but I'm pretty sure that's what you'll need."

Harry pushed himself up and brushed off his pants and robe. "We're practically opposites."

"Yeah," Neville snickered, "white and black, how terrible. You're both red-eyed phantoms of death. However, if you don't mind..."

Harry smiled. "Go ahead, Neville. Although... do you need that book for it...?"

Neville picked it up with his robe and held it out to him. "Nope. It's all research until I feel ready for the spell, and I've read the theory for that. He shouldn't need it too long, should he?"

"So..." Harry tucked his shoulder up, "you don' t mind..."

"I trust Prince won't rat us out, Harry. Here, give him this too." He handed him the jar of herbs as well. "More incentive. He rats us out, he loses the damn book."

"There is that." Harry smiled. "I'll threaten him to get it done fast. Maybe he'll work on it while he waits for the next task to be announced."

Neville nodded, shrugging back into his robe. "I won't be comfortable with my form for a few months, so there's no rush." He paused as Harry did the same, then asked, "I have to wonder how much mum knows about this."

"Our mothers would have a collective fit if they knew."

Neville nodded slowly. "Yeah, I don't think I'll tell her until I'm finished. I really want her to see, though."

Harry smiled. "I'd like my mum to see too... at least nobody dies upon seeing a Cwn Annwn."

Neville snickered. "Instead it's just when they hear them."

Harry punched Neville's shoulder and scowled at him. "Lay off."

His friend laughed at him, pulling out the Marauder's Map and checking that the coast was clear. "Yeah, yeah. What are you going to tell your parents, anyways? Harry Potter, Hound of the Underworld. Real dignified, that."

"That's none of your business." Harry growled.

Neville's eyebrows went up and he paused by the door, "Hey, Harry, I was being serious. I think it's awesome."

Harry lifted a shoulder self-consciously. "I knew that."

Neville continued to be silent, saying something about needing to finish his essays for tomorrow. Harry let him walk off ahead, too lost in his own thoughts to really notice or remember that Neville had already finished all his work for the next three days. He wandered until he found a hall he remembered, still thinking hard.

He'd never thought he'd be something like Sirius in his Animagus. Whenever he'd imagined it, he'd always been thinking lion – mostly when he was ten or eleven – or maybe a wolf, or a tiger. A dog hadn't really crossed his mind – and a spectral dog? Few people ever ran into those anymore, much less the Hounds of Annwn. Those were so old they were myths reaching into the Welsh pantheon – in the same annals as the holidays of Beltaine and Lughnasadh.

His father didn't think much of the old ways, and his mother knew even less of them. The Longbottoms had dropped the Gods years before the Potters had. He could only really rely upon Sirius to even know what the Cwn Annwn were, much less possibly believe they were anything other than Hell Hounds... They had some good in them, right?

The sight of the dying fox hit his eyes, and Harry blinked back to reality, scowling at the stone walls before he found the nearest staircase up towards the Owlery. He needed to ask Sirius about what he was whether he liked it or not. He didn't have any choice in the matter.

He stopped on the landing before the owlery and fished a piece of parchment out of his bag. Quickly, he put it against the flattest piece of wall and scratched out his request in as few words as possible.

_To Sirius,_

_ I, son of Prongs, have a problem. My Animagus is a Cwn Annwn – one of the spectral Hell Hounds of Welsh Mythology. I doubt any amount of research into dogs is going to get me anywhere. Would the potion in question be the solution I need to finish the next step?_

_Sincerely,_

_ Harry_

He scowled over the words again and tore off the excess parchment, shoving it back into his bag and folding the paper before hexing it shut. He frowned at forgetting to write his name on the outside and used a hex from the book he'd stolen from Grimmauld place to char it in instead.

Hedwig almost didn't want to land on his arm long enough to give her the paper. She pecked his hand as he tried to stroke her head and took off out the window with undue haste. Harry put his hands on the sill and ground his teeth. It was five minutes before he began to feel ashamed of his anger: what stupid owl would want to land when he was in such a foul mood? Unhappy and thoroughly ashamed, Harry turned and sank to the ground below the window, staring across the floor coated in discarded feathers and bird dung without really seeing anything of substance.

He was still at the juncture of floor and wall when Susan Bones came in with her own letter. He didn't even notice her until she'd crouched down beside him with an expectant look. After a few minutes, Harry flicked his eyes over and acknowledged her with a dark frown. She gave him a bland look.

"Aren't you concerned about the owl-droppings that have surely affixed themselves to your robes?"

"Cleaning charms," Harry snapped. He turned away, unwilling to meet her eyes any longer. She was staring too hard – what did she see? Someone too violent and coarse for words – someone unwilling to even admit what he was to anyone? Who always acted like something more acceptable than what he was?

"Ah yes." She rocked back on her heels. "Those. Mr Rich-britches."

Harry turned and glared, immediately defensive of his money. He bit his lip: was he _looking_ for an excuse to be a total asshole today? Susan's face was still deliberately bland, and Harry cursed himself once more. He stood and moved away from the window, turning to check and clean his robes with quick charms. Susan caught a few spots without a word, and smiled,

"I just came up here to send a letter to my aunt." She held out her arm, and her tawny owl landed with silent wings. "Were you sending a letter, or just wanting to be alone?"

"I sent my letter already." Harry shrugged, deliberately being vague. He didn't want to add too much: underage Animagi were not allowed, and the book was illegal for him to own since he, himself, was not an Auror. There were simply too many things that could go wrong. Susan wasn't nearly as suspicious as he was, and she just smiled and nodded.

Harry glanced down her body almost without thinking, noting she was out of her robes, simply in the uniform trousers and vest over a long-sleeved shirt. She was smiling with a slight blush when his eyes came back up not a second later, and Harry grinned, bowing and holding out his hand, which she took out of reflex – pureblood manners taking over. He ghosted a kiss over her knuckles and turned to walk out without another word. Hopefully that would help her forget his morose when she'd come in. He was already wishing he could forget it himself.

Besides, it never hurt to be polite to a pretty girl.

* * *

A/N: Oops. I got distracted. I blame finals.

Anyways, here's the next chapter, enjoy!

Fire & Napalm


	24. Chapter 24

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Twenty-Four:**

The last day in February, Harry wandered out of Meditations without coming out of his calm zone. He was sitting down at the library table with Alan before he even realized Alan was growling at him.

"Potter! What the _Hell_ are you doing here?"

Harry blinked, jolted out of it immediately. "The library's fair game, Prince," He responded automatically, trying to catch up with what was going on. "My apologies if you need the whole table just to write one essay, but I doubt it'll be that much of an inconvenience if I add my own."

Alan didn't take his offer to just be calm today, slamming his book shut and forcing his chair back with a squeal. "Fine then. I'll move."

Harry shook his head and slipped his book back inside his bag, promising to get Alan for this later. "No, no, enjoy your bloody little corner then. Merlin forbid you ever actually learn to _share_."He shouldered his bag, already regretting the loss of his calm. He always felt so _good_ coming out of Meditations... Now, he had to wonder if Alan was pissed at him for some reason, or if he had another motive for being such a bastard right off the bat. He was still trying to come up with an answer when Alan stalked up to him in the aisle and pushed him, turning him from the shelves to face him.

"Potter, I have a few words for you."

He threw his hand to the side and Harry recognized him putting up a spell. The only one that made sense was silencing, but Harry still took a large step back and growled at him, "What do you _want_, Prince?"

His friend tossed a hand through his hair and heaved an exaggerated sigh. He turned back with a disgusted look and explained, "Moody's been watching me all day; he searched mine and my father's rooms, and the entire Slytherin dorms – purportedly for anything of danger to us, but probably just out of habit. I had to toss half my books into the Floo in the ten minutes warning I got so he wouldn't confiscate them. Different laws mean some of my stuff is illegal here."

Harry rolled his eyes and shifted his weight forward, keeping his face angry, but his voice light, "Oh, so _that's_ why you're all chipper this evening! I thought you just really loved me after all, Alan." He rocked backwards with a mocking grin, but he knew his eyes were relieved.

Alan gave him a disgusted look. "You wish."

"Well, let me know when we can talk again. I'm getting sick of playing musical chairs all the time."

"Not my fault it's ridiculous." Alan shrugged, but he took the sting away when he added, "Maybe we can just fly at each other on the pitch. They can't tell us _not_ to use it, even if there's no formal competition."

Harry grinned again and quickly turned to his bag, hauling out the Animagus book and thrusting it into Alan's chest. "Fine. I'm done with this; I need the potion for the second part." Alan caught it, looking it over and then clearly hiding his surprise. The Slytherin tapped it with his wand, changing the cover to read something about Defence instead, and tucked it into his bag. Harry threw the small pot of herbs at him once his attention had returned and then gave another put-upon sigh, "Are you done interrogating me yet?"

Alan nodded, already distracted. He pulled another book out of his bag and tapped it before starting to flip through the pages. Harry turned about and stalked out of the shelves. He'd reached the Herbology section before Moody stepped up to him.

"You alright there, Harry?"

Harry jumped: Moody could move very silently when he wanted to. "I'm fine, why do you ask?"

"Saw you and Prince arguing. What was the problem?"

"Oh." Harry looked away shortly. "It was nothing."

"That was a pretty heated argument there; you both had something pretty hot to say to each other." Moody frowned. "Those aren't 'nothing' arguments."

Harry didn't answer, although he couldn't keep from fidgeting. He already knew what he was going to say, but Moody would believe him more if he held out...

"Potter?" Moody growled.

"I just wanted that corner, is all. He hogs the books there all the time!" Harry lifted his shoulder again and grumbled, "He just told me off for it, and a few other things. Demanded a book I'd taken from there a few weeks back; it's nothing, I was done with it. He knew you were watching; we weren't going to fight."

Moody grunted, his attention returning to the bookshelves. "Yeah, he did. Warded your argument, and has kept that corner warded for quite a while, now. He's a hard boy to crack; hard to help, too. He's a secretive cur." Moody spat on the ground. "Unsurprisingly. Bloody Alfaerus." Moody twitched his wand and cleaned it up, before clumping back into the corner, his magical eye spinning.

Harry pointedly continued his way out of the library, thinking about what Alan had said and what Moody had implied. Dumbledore wanted him to help Alan; Alan didn't want the help. It was too much for the moment, and with Neville not talking to him yet – still angry about their Animagus attempt two days ago – Harry made his way to his trunk first. He pulled out his Nimbus and went back down the stairs. He hadn't flown in too long; he was sick of not playing Quidditch. Maybe flying would help the thoughts crammed too tightly behind his eyes.

IIII

Harry got the letter back from Sirius on the morning of the Hogsmeade weekend. It included a surprising amount of information: apparently the Hounds of Annwn had a lot more going for them than simply Hell Hounds according to the pureblood pagan histories.

Of course, Sirius was also ecstatic he wouldn't be the only odd dog in the family and wished him luck with the potion – it was the only way, and it had taken Sirius three tries to get it right.

Rereading the letter down in Hogsmeade was about all he was doing. Neville still wasn't talking to him, and Harry didn't want to be the first to repair their relationship – not at the moment, at least. Alan was talking eagerly with Blaise and last Harry saw had dragged him into the small apothecary. Hermione was talking with Neville, and Ron was in Zonko's – and he didn't want to talk with either of them. Ron, bless his heart, probably wasn't strong enough to succeed at the Animagus transformation at this point in his education, and Hermione would be too rule-bound. If he told, they'd want to try or argue, and he wasn't up to that.

He couldn't talk to anyone.

He wandered towards the outskirts of the village, half-thinking about leaving, when he saw Susan talking with Hannah outside Zonko's. She looked excited, and her face lit up when she glanced past her friend and saw him. She was the last person he wanted to talk to, and with the fresh conflict in his chest, he sped up and stalked back up the path to Hogwarts.

It was surprisingly nice to wander the empty school. It was a welcoming emptiness, with the happy echoes of the other students faded away, and a smile crawled across his face despite his best efforts to stay in his dark mood. The castle was as familiar as his own home, and his feet walked the path to Gryffindor tower without any of his conscious attention. He wasn't sure what he'd do once there, but he spoke the password and went in – only to stop abruptly.

McGonagall was standing in the common room keeping an eye on the nervous first- and second-years and the older students who had stayed behind. Everyone was in some state of nervousness, and Lee Jordan waved him over with a wry smile.

"Hey Harry, what brought you back so early?"

Harry gave him a dirty look even as he sat down across from him, and Lee moved on without making him answer,

"Moody's decided to do a dorm search. He'll be having a few words with some students as they come back. He's going up through the dorms; I think he's already been through yours. He comes down to tell McGonagall if he's got a question or something. You alright there?"

Harry wasn't alright, but he nodded anyways and kept his face at some point between amused and outright pissed off, trying to replicate his mood from the last few days. He had enough things in his trunk that he shouldn't, he didn't doubt Moody would be asking questions galore. He just hoped he wouldn't invade a book or read any parchments unless they fell out or caught his eye: the last thing he wanted Moody to find out was that he was friends with Prince. He could probably get away with his books: half of them he'd gotten from his father. The rest were from Alan, and weren't legal, approved, published, or something in Britain as far as he knew.

And then there was his cloak and second wand... Harry wasn't sure if Moody knew about that or not.

Whatever it was, he hoped he could talk to Moody in private about it.

He was waiting long enough he joined a game of Exploding Snap with several others who spent just as much time watching the staircase as he did. Finally, Moody clunked back down the staircase and turned to McGonagall, his magical eye scanning the room.

"It's all clear, Minerva. I'll need to speak with several students as they get back. Potter!" Harry jumped. "Come with me."

Harry stood with trembling legs and followed in Moody's wake, praying his subterfuge had been enough, praying he hadn't found the one book he regretted bringing to school with him now. Everything else he could explain. Not that one.

McGonagall had been left behind in the common room as Moody tramped into a nearby, unused staffroom and dropped four books heavily onto the table. His wild eye was staring at him as he pulled the silvery fabric of the invisibility cloak out, and then pulled out a wand and put those down as well. The auror frowned at him and locked the door.

"I was glad you were in there; you had a few things that I wanted to see if your father had given you." He grinned crookedly. "If you're anything like your old man, you'd make the biggest fuss anyways."

Harry kept his face carefully blank as Moody picked up the wand and turned it over. It was a few shades darker than his holly wand, and clearly a lot older.

"A second wand?" He grunted.

Harry tucked up his shoulder. "You remember what happened six years ago with Scrimgeour coming close to firing my dad?" Moody nodded curtly. "That... was formerly Scrimgeour's wand. I stole it on a dare from Neville, and, well, Scrimgeour found out..." He shrugged again. "I won the wand off him. Dad let me keep it, but he wanted me to get my own wand, too."

He frowned down at it, and handed it over. "Then I suppose it's yours by right." He picked up the invisibility cloak. "And this?"

"It's an heirloom. My father bought one for his work because he doesn't want to risk it getting damaged in a spell-fight, so he gave me his old one." His father had also told him it was special, and he'd find out more later, but Harry already knew that. It didn't have any darnings or fading, and it was still as pristine as it always had been – Harry had tried on his father's work cloak a few years ago. It wasn't nearly in such good condition.

Moody seemed just as suspicious but he put the wand down on the cloak and pushed them aside. "I'm assuming all the Auror books you got from your father," He glared and Harry nodded curtly, "But these... They're not Auror editions. They're not British either. I remember this," He held up one, "was banned two years ago, same with the one below. The last isn't published here, and I'm not familiar with it. Where did you get them?"

Harry's cheeks coloured. "I... found a magazine I think Al-Prince left in the library. I took it – I thought the books were interesting, and I asked my mum if I could order some. She said I could; I didn't know they were banned." Alan knew. Harry had gotten the magazine in a letter and written back what ones he wanted, and received them for his birthday. He'd told his mother that story when she'd found the owl-order package, and she'd agreed after glancing them over – and asking to borrow some herself, which was why he didn't have all five with him.

But the last book in the stack...

Moody picked it up and held it up to him with both eyes fixed on his face. Harry swallowed as discretely as he could and opened his mouth – but nothing came out.

"This is not a legal book," Moody pointed out curtly. "Are you aware of the kinds of spells in it?" He didn't give him time to answer. "Cruel spells. Dangerous spells. Spells that could cancel out the Bubblehead Charm underwater."

Harry couldn't help it. His eyes widened and he gaped. "I didn't – I wouldn't do it, Moody! Honest, I didn't even know that was in there! I just – it was stupid, I was sick of –" He bit it off and looked down, flushing red.

"You were sick of Dumbledore's interest in you?" Moody snapped. "Good."

Harry stared at him.

"You're a smart boy, Potter," Moody growled. "You're clever, and you're curious. You don't let an old man like me or Dumbledore stop you. Where did you get the book?"

Harry dropped his head and answered shortly. "The Black library."

Moody put the book gently on the pile alongside the others. "Very well." He rolled his false eye to stare at him again. "I trust you know enough to know what the spells in this book mean. I catch you casting any of them, Potter, and you will wish I'd taken the book when I saw it. But to know your enemy is the hallmark of any Auror. Just because you know something doesn't mean you use it. You hear me, Potter?"

"Yes, sir!" he barked, startled into attention.

Moody grinned and laughed harshly. "Still got the jump to you." He snorted. "Constant Vigilance, Potter!"

"You're not going to catch me with a random hex again," Harry sneered.

"Better be watching your back," Moody warned. "Take your books back up, Harry."

Harry nodded, a little surprised at the use of his name, but not about to question it. He caught his books, checking that his Dark Arts book had the glamour on still. The cloak and wand went in his robes and he used the ash wand to hex the door open and wander out, glancing over his shoulder once before leaving.

Moody waved and tucked his wand back up his sleeve.

IIII

By the time the weekend was over, Neville had forgotten to be annoyed with him anymore, and they were talking again, seated together at dinner.

"Oh, no way!" Lavender Brown, next to them, gasped suddenly and leaned over the table. "Parvati, look at this! You have to read this!"

Harry turned and rolled his eyes at Neville who merely grinned back. Hermione glanced at the magazine the two girls were sharing and snorted.

"For crying out loud, she could keep it down. Fashion tips are not that important."

Harry laughed again and returned to eating, but had to postpone it as Melanie made a strangled, furious noise and shot over to shove her rolled up copy of _Witch Weekly_ in Neville's face. Neville jerked back.

"Melanie, we're eating-" He began.

"Neville! Read that article!" She demanded, distraught. "I can't believe – I hope that woman rots somewhere dark and dank! She can't print stuff like that, can she?"

"Melanie," Harry cut in. "What is it?"

She angrily dropped the magazine across Neville's plate and turned to him, her cheeks pink. "Rita Skeeter wrote an article about Prince, saying his mother was a -a – _scarlet woman_." She whispered the last. She turned to Neville's dirty look and tucked up her shoulder. "Just... can you get the magazine back to me afterwards, clean? Romilda is going to want it back."

Harry felt only a vague amusement that she knew Romilda well enough to steal her magazine. He tugged the paper out of Neville's hands and threw a cleaning charm at it. A wet stain darkened the page, but didn't obscure the text. Neville tugged it back over so it was between them, drying the pages with a charm. The noise around them rose to a dull roar, but Harry's attention was fixed on the printed vitriol before him.

_THE PRINCE OF KNOCKTURN ALLEY_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_The established institution of Hogwarts is a place of prestige recently graced with the Triwizard Tournament, and the dark horse Alan Prince of Slytherin, fourteen years old, is Hogwarts Champion. When his clever gambit to gain the recognition of the Tournament put him directly in the spotlight, this reporter sought to shed some light on his shadowed and uncertain origins. _

_It is openly known that Alan Prince has lived in Salem, Massachusetts in the United States of America, raised in the dubious care of the Salem Witch's Institute Arithmancy teacher Philana Adamidis, a Greek national, who's other children are her questionably sane triplet sons. What isn't as well known is the existence of Philana's squib half-sister, born of their Greek father, and a British woman of unknown origin. The unfortunate squib made her home here in Britain, in a small flat over a dirty little wand shop in Knockturn Alley._

_From an old and failing pureblood line, Sophia Adamidis made her living by the oldest of the illicit trades, entertaining men for a silver sickle or two. As petty as the trade was, many claim it was flourishing in her locale, and notable clients seen climbing those stairs were Horace Slughorn, Augustus Rookwood and apparently the current Hogwarts Potions Master, Severus Snape. Less substantiated rumours put our present Minister and even the Headmaster of Hogwarts on location!_

_Various other characters would have come and gone, hidden by time and discretion, but it is a solid fact she was popular and kept herself in style. Orders of the finest elf-made wine, and potions ingredients came in often, presumably to share between her and her many lovers._

_In light of Sophia's conquests, Alan's true parentage would be considered more than dubious, but with his recent growth plants the suspicion solidly on Severus Snape. The two are the spitting image of each other. This may very well explain Prince's prodigious Potion's scores, although whether he inherited his father's skill or if it's blatant favouritism is unknown. _

_He also has shown he has plenty of grace on the dance floor at the Yule Ball – a talent almost certainly drawn from his mother – and he's crawling up the list on Witch Weekly's 'most eligible wizard's' which makes one wonder why he took the dubious 'Loony' Luna Lovegood as his partner._

_It leaves us with many more unanswered questions. While it has been established that the boy was raised in America since he was quite the young thing, why was he there? Was he taken from his mother for her clearly inadequate care? Surely they could have placed him better than with the Alfaerus! With Sophia's in and out habits on the public record, we are left with nothing but questions, and many answers lie in a school well out of our jurisdiction. Perhaps I shall make another contribution on his upbringing, so we may know that he won't be inclined to turn back to his Knockturn Alley roots._

Above the article was a profile photo of Alan. It was clearly unposed; he looked like he'd been talking to someone. Though he had probably been unaware at the time, his picture was shooting suspicious glances out of the frame and looking uncomfortable.

Harry sat back from the article and surrendered it to Neville with a disgusted noise. He was still trying to sort through the article – to sift the truth from the lies.

There was a depressingly large amount of truth. She'd fudged points: Sophia had _not_ been a squib, merely a weak witch, and the only person he'd believe as being a visitor to Sophia would be Severus – and only that because it was plain that he was Alan's father. Most of it was simply the phrasing that put blame everywhere for something that wasn't anyone's fault. Otherwise, it was just a truth that was sensational enough for Skeeter's publication on it's own.

So what if Alan's mother was a – a courtesan? Harry had accepted it a long time ago – with his judgemental father, he certainly couldn't throw stones.

"Disgusting." Neville dropped it on the table. Harry bristled defensively until he continued. "The only reason she's being that vicious is because _Witch Weekly_ isn't published in America. The Alfaerus would tear a strip off her hide." He frowned. "Or maybe not. They probably get articles like that all the time. Stupid."

Hermione took the magazine to read it with Ron looking over her shoulder, trying not to touch the pages.

Harry turned back to his meal and had to wonder, should he feel sorry for Skeeter when she suffered the Alfaerus' retaliation... or get tickets so he could watch? He glanced across the hall, curious, but Alan and his coterie were entirely absent. Malfoy was pouting and talking intently with Parkinson and a few older students. He sighed and turned back to his food.

The fireworks would show up tomorrow, he was sure.

IIII

The next morning, he didn't even make it into the Great Hall before he saw the fallout from the article. The Slytherin hourglass was completely empty.

It had been riding low ever since Alan had been chosen as the school champion, but Harry had never seen any of the hourglasses absolutely empty this late in the year. A few others were staring, stopping in the middle of the entrance hall. Neville put a hand on his shoulder and groaned,

"Oh, Snape is really happy with his house right now..."

Harry shook his head, stuck between astonishment and amusement, and led the way into the Great Hall. Just inside, however, he paused to take a good look at Alan and his coterie. He had never seen them all packed together like they were now. Normally it was only Lucille Pupp, Zabini and Greengrass – but Alan had Tracey Davis and a fifth year black boy seated on one side as well, and a group of sixth year girls opposite. Theodore Nott was seated alone nearly half the table away, and Malfoy and his bookends hadn't arrived.

Alan himself was pale and tense, faint hints Harry picked up only due to long acquaintance – otherwise, his face was perfectly neutral. He wasn't talking to his friends. It looked like they were all suspiciously silent.

Harry had taken his seat at the Gryffindor table when Malfoy arrived. Malfoy passed behind Alan and his group with a cocky grin, but made no move towards them: every student but Alan was eyeing him and fingering their wands. Alan continued eating as though unaware of Malfoy's presence. It struck Harry as completely out of character for Alan. What was he doing, ignoring his wand?

The deliberate silence and murmur of the hall was shattered halfway through Harry's breakfast when an owl fluttered in with a burning red letter. It landed in front of Professor Snape, and received a withering glare as the man took it from the bird with a sneer.

Upon opening, the envelope leaped into the air and screamed in a shrill, female voice,

"_Whoremonger_! _Sordid wretch_! How _dare_ they allow you near children! You can't even keep track of _your own_ son, letting him be raised by the ill-mannered, warmongering _ruffians_! The boy is a _liar_ and a _cheat_; what foul talents to be passed on to our future generations! Azkaban is too good for you, Death Eater _scum_!"

The ashes dropped onto Severus' plate, but he calmly banished them without thought on his face. Alan hadn't so much as twitched in his seat.

It was an exceptional student who called out over the murmur of sound, "Callous, unfeeling Slytherins!"

Startlingly, Dumbledore answered, "Detention, Mr Davies. You may join the Slytherins with Filch this evening."

The hall fell into a well of silence that slowly filled with low conversation once more. Harry felt removed from the group, alone in Gryffindor with people who both agreed, disagreed, and were disgusted by the article. Some thought it was true, some thought it was all a lie – and he was the only one there who knew the truth itself, and he could not explain. The article was going to ruin his entire week; he could feel it.

Fortunately, the first class of the day was Herbology. Most of the Hufflepuffs didn't trust a word Rita Skeeter wrote, and their pleasant Head of House found it offensive. The first comment she heard about it resulted in ten points off her own house - nobody dared say a thing after that. Unfortunately, they weren't so lucky in their next class: Care of Magical Creatures, with the Slytherins.

Harry waved Neville to his free period and trudged down the grounds to Hagrid's hut with Hermione and Ron, watching the Slytherins as he approached to get a feel for how the class was going to go. The thought of Malfoy and Alan in close quarters made him feel squeamish. Please let them have worked out their animosity the class before...

He didn't have much hope for it. Coming upon the class killed the rest. Both Zabini and Nott were at Alan's side, glaring down Malfoy and his gang. Nott was neutral in Slytherin; he had never chosen either side. That he was siding with Alan now...

Alan still didn't have his wand out. He was facing Hagrid's hut with no expression, letting his coterie once again be his guards. As Harry came abreast of him, he recognized the even pattern of breathing Alan was engaged in – a steady cycle from Meditations last year that he was clearly using to control his emotions.

With the Gryffindors alongside, Malfoy changed venue from glaring impotently at Nott and Zabini and started speaking.

"My word, _Prince_, are you already that worried about your future that you won't even take a tiny risk to your looks anymore? Looking to take after your mother's line of work?" Behind Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle laughed thickly. "I suppose you need all the help you can get –"

"Enough!" Hagrid stepped up and glared them down, finally grasping something he could call them on now that the stalemate had broken. "I don't wan' ter hear another word! Yeh'll leave 'im alone, if I have ter separate you myself!"

Harry took his place around the broken dirt in front of Hagrid as the rest of the Gryffindors stepped up more cautiously around him – and as far from the Slytherins as they could. After they'd settled, Alan shocked everyone by turning and walking around the group to stand on the far side of the Gryffindors from the rest of the Slytherins. Zabini and Greengrass followed him immediately, leaving Tracey Davis and Nott to subside and sneer at their classmates, who sneered right back.

With Alan's blind focus on Hagrid, and the Slytherins gradually relaxing as well, Hagrid took up the class once more to introduce them to the crates of nifflers at his feet. The lesson turned out to be both fun, and functional. Alan, Zabini and Greengrass remained sequestered with the Gryffindors for the entire lesson. A glance from Harry sent Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati to the other side of the pit, blocking the Slytherins there as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Sophie Roper stayed where they were. Harry didn't bother himself wondering why they hadn't complained; he just was glad they'd gone. It kept the lesson from being ruined, and it was one of Hagrid's good ones.

Once the nifflers had dug up all the coins, and Ron had received – and started eating – his chocolate, the buffer disappeared and Alan had to rejoin his classmates. Harry paused at the door, stalling his friends as he watched Malfoy and his bookends catch up to Alan, Zabini and Greengrass. The blond looked past Alan to Harry and grinned once more,

"Looking for customers among the Gryffindors, Prince?" He snickered, "I'd thought they were all poor, although Hermione might have some money to spare – you can never tell with the mudbloods, no galleons or-"

Malfoy never finished. Alan stiffened, and the ugly look Harry had been expecting all day tore across his face. He turned from his friends and moved down the stairs in a half-fall, catching himself as he dropped forward and threw Malfoy to the side with his punch. The pureblood heir staggered and Prince bounced back up two steps, gaining height and distance as his shoulders dropped and he bounced twice on his feet before relaxing.

Malfoy straightened slowly, seemingly cowed, and Alan turned to climb back up the stairs as he recovered his composure. Once his back was turned, however, Malfoy spat blood at his heels and spat,

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have implied you'd go so low as to fuck mudbloods. You were probably more interested in the Potter wealth, weren't you? Didn't you get enough of him _last_ year?"

Harry's blood rose at that; Malfoy must have forgotten he was watching, or he wouldn't have insulted both of them at once. Alan, however, didn't hesitate: he swept back down the stairs and wasn't even at the bottom when he leaned and kicked Malfoy in the face, throwing him onto his back. Alan's face was strangely calm once again.

Alan caught his balance and kept his fists up, even though Crabbe and Goyle looked thoroughly panicked enough to not try anything – not when Alan's coterie and Nott waited at the top of the stairs, wands out.

"Did you not get it when I gave up my wand last night, Malfoy?" Alan hissed. "I'm not going to put up with your shit. I'm smart enough I won't risk the spells I might use, but brute force works just as well, or did you forget I'm _American_?" He added sarcastically, "where _nobody_ bothers with the more 'refined' arts and we sometimes bloody each other's noses for fun? Merlin, Mary and Mordred, you would drive a man to _drink_! Can you not shut up for _five_ minutes?

"I am not a whore, Malfoy, rather like you aren't even though your dad's one. Maybe you should remember you're not going to see Pomfrey until Friday before you make me hit you again. Back the fuck off."

Malfoy had sat up, holding his bloodied nose in two pale hands. He stared at Alan as he ranted, his eyes dark and sullen – and scared. Malfoy was frightened of Alan, and Harry wondered if that wasn't why the pureblood heir needled him. The two of them had gotten off on the same foot Harry and Alan had, and had only pulled further apart over time.

Malfoy's attention locked on something behind Alan with a glint of hope, and Harry turned to find McGonagall at the top of the stairs. Alan had already turned to return to his friends and only spared the Transfiguration professor a glance before he went and rejoined his friends, ushering them – and the addition of Theodore Nott – into the Great Hall. McGonagall did not stop them. She sighed and addressed Malfoy,

"Please try not to antagonize him, Mr Malfoy. Remove your hands a moment."

Malfoy gaped, removing his hands more from shock than obedience. A spell hit his face, and his nose twitched – righting itself into place once more.

"You may wish to clean up the blood, Mr Malfoy." She turned and walked away without another word, without even questioning how his nose got broken.

Harry was desperate to know just what had happened in Slytherin last night.

Parkinson simpered at Malfoy and helped him to stand, bringing him up the stairs between Crabbe and Goyle. Harry reached out and stopped them at the top, sparing a short glance to the two bookends before he addressed Malfoy,

"Implying I both buy whores and fuck men in one fell swoop, Malfoy, isn't going to do you any favours. If this were thirty years ago, I could call you out on that."

Malfoy paled, and sneered, "It's not."

"It's not," Harry agreed. "So there's no rules that say I _have_ to kick your ass in front of everyone else." As Malfoy paled agreeably, Harry added, "Stop bringing me into your petty rivalry, Malfoy. Maybe you should pick me _or_ Prince and stop keeping your hands full. Isn't one rival enough for you, or do you keep forgetting to think when Parkinson isn't on your arm?" He stopped her objections with a raised hand and finished, "Go somewhere else and just decide, already. I'm sick of you."

Harry turned his back on Malfoy and passed Ron and Hermione before he even thought to encourage them to follow; he wanted them watching his back, after all. They jogged to catch up and came through the doors at about the same time as Neville came down the rest of the stairs. Harry's brother was shooting suspicious glances towards where Malfoy was disappearing into the dungeons, and finally fell into step with Harry to sigh,

"I never thought I'd lose out on that much drama just by not taking Care of Magical Creatures. Everything seems to be happening there, doesn't it?"

Harry shook his head. "You have no idea..."

IIII

Four days later, things were quieter – thanks to the many, colourful bruises Malfoy had that had finally shut him up – and Harry was surprised to find himself with company in the bright little corner of the library during lunch. Harry frowned; Alan was looking tired again, a state that had been all too common this year with him trying to keep up with the demands of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry opted not to press him for information, just nodding at him and moving back towards his book.

"This is ridiculous," Alan hissed. Apparently he didn't need to be pressed. Harry closed his book and looked up, meeting Alan's bright-eyed stare. "All this from such a stupid, lying article."

Harry fished for a question and remembered the owl Alan had gotten two days ago, or, more specifically, the _albatross_ that had flown into the school. "How's everyone back in Salem taking it?"

Alan laughed softly and ran a hand through his hair. "Philana is pissed off her rocker; I think because she put her name in there specifically and insulted her sons. Louis doesn't care, and I don't think Green or Amaranth have even read it. Louis sent me the letter," Alan clarified. "He said Thomas threw something across the room when he found the article, and he didn't know why, which is odd for Thomas. He's got no stop between his head and his mouth most days."

"Are they going to do anything about it?"

"What can they do?" Alan shrugged, tension running through his arms. "They can't refute it; she hardly put in any lies. She didn't have to add much to make it 'sensational'. My mother _was_ a whore. How much worse can it _get_?"

Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that.

Alan shrugged again, dropping his shoulders as his breath moved into the pattern again. He continued, "At least Hogwarts isn't too badly stacked against me. Just a few Gryffs, Ravenclaws, and half of Slytherin. I think there are the least in Hufflepuff, but I really don't know."

Harry frowned. "The Gryffindors haven't seemed that hacked off about it."

"If you react in the common room like you did during Care," Alan grinned, "I'm not surprised you haven't noticed. Your face was scary; _that_ was a good glare. Pure righteous fury. I think you had Malfoy cowed." He paused and tilted his head. "Thank you, for that. It made that class a lot easier, to have that buffer."

Harry frowned. "I couldn't do anything else. I didn't want Hagrid's class disrupted anyways; it was a _good_ lesson."

Alan snorted. "Gryffindor."

Harry shook his head and tossed him a rude gesture. He finally asked the question he'd had Monday afternoon, "What on earth happened between you and Malfoy Sunday night that meant even McGonagall wouldn't punish you for breaking Malfoy's nose?"

Alan turned an interesting shade of red and he snarled at the carpet.

"It was nothing but tit for tat to the teachers, Harry. I was retaliating to something he'd started. He's in detention, alternating teachers for the rest of the year, and Slytherin still doesn't have any points to take away; I think we're in the _negative_ right now." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

He was evading the question. It only made Harry more curious. "Alan, what happened Sunday night?"

Alan shook his head.

"Alan..." Harry whined.

"He... propositioned me." Alan shrugged awkwardly. "He had the bloody coins in his _hand_. Asked if a galleon was enough to get me to strip and –" He shook his head again and went red once more. "I hexed him so badly he was writhing on the floor when Severus came in at the Prefect's summons. My father hauled us both and a witness up to the Headmaster to make sure he had everything right. Suffice to say, he was pissed at Malfoy and half the rest of the common room – as half of them weren't at all bothered by what Malfoy had suggested." He snarled. "I remember which were far too interested in _that_. I'm not about to forget."

Harry was staring open-mouthed. Malfoy had done _what_? And the students hadn't even _minded_?

"Pick up your jaw, Harry," Alan said. "It's dealt with. After what I did to Malfoy, I don't think half of them would even try. Severus threatened to start him on detentions _next_ year and send a letter home to his father. That shut him up quick."

Harry closed his mouth as it went dry. Malfoy had been slapped by his father for failing to catch the Snitch in his first and only game as seeker, second year. Harry didn't want to know what his father would do for... that. He wasn't even sure which part he'd get punished for, and he didn't want to know.

"Was it Severus who made you give up your wand, Monday?"

"No," Alan shook his head. "I volunteered it. My father let me after asking Louis if I'd be okay and getting Zabini to promise to stay by my side through all my classes, and that I would return to his office if I ever wasn't with him – that's where I've slept all week. I still, technically, don't have my wand back. I put it in an ankle holster so I have to work to get it out. You don't want to know what kind of hexing that has prevented."

Harry raised his eyebrows and decided to shelve the serious conversation. Pushing aside his book, Harry smiled slowly at Alan. His friend smirked, and Harry mirrored it perfectly. Alan laughed.

"Fine, I'll tell you what I wanted to use. Seriously..."

"Sirius is at the Ministry, Prince," Harry deadpanned.

Alan groaned and slapped the back of Harry's head. "Don't give me more of a headache than I already have!"

IIII

Saturday rolled around, and Alan showed up to breakfast with a skip in his step. Harry almost groaned, but he was smiling when he sat down with Neville and his friends. Neville noticed and pestered him about it all through breakfast until Harry finally glared up at the sky and grinned.

"Hey, Neville." His friend gave him a suspicious look, "How about we go have a quick game of Quidditch?"

Neville protested they weren't allowed, that it was completely unnecessary, and continued to do so all the way until he finally succumbed to getting on a broom, a beater's bat in hand. Harry laughed and tagged Ron as Keeper before he took the Quaffle first and pitched it at Hermione for her to send it towards Ron.

The shot failed miserably, and Melanie swooped down to snag it away from Harry, shooting to Ginny who shot – and scored past her brother. Hermione groaned once again, and Neville cursed Harry as he slammed the single Bludger at his best friend's head.

Harry appropriately dodged. "Hey, Neville, you promised six years ago you'd never enter a Quidditch pitch without a beater's bat in hand! You don't want to break your promise, do you?"

Neville's response was to send the Bludger somewhere in his general direction once more with a furious glare.

Harry had expected Neville to want to call it quits within a half-hour, but it was all the way to forty minutes when someone stole the Quaffle from under his nose and put it through Ron's left hoop. Harry spun and glared and found himself looking into Alan's bright black eyes.

"Hey, this looks like fun. You want to expand your game, Potter?"

Harry was speechless for a moment, horrified, until he glanced down and found that his friend had brought his entire coterie with him. Harry stared back, his mind furiously shifting through what he was playing at until he glanced down again and realized that Alan had six to his group – the same as Harry had.

"Prince," Harry grinned, his teeth bared, "are you trying to sucker me into a game of Quidditch with your and your 'friends'?"

"Well, you're taking up the pitch," Alan explained in a condescending tone. "I _suppose_ I should respect that you had it first, but I'm a little bored, and a little antsy – I want to be on my broom. It can't hurt; it should be a little nicer for your...better friends to play against someone who actually knows what they're _doing_, now wouldn't it?"

"None but you aren't even on your house's _reserve_ team," Harry sneered, "much less actually playing Quidditch."

"And how many of your friends does that amount for?" Alan tossed his hair off his forehead and grinned, "Ah, right. You and your red-headed year-mate. That's it. C'mon, it's an even match-up. Don't make me call in the Professors."

Harry thought it over. Zabini was a hopeful for the Quidditch team, and Greengrass and Pupp were mostly disregarded because the Slytherin Captains usually didn't think women should play. The black fifth-year and Tracey Davis were mediocre flyers, and Harry didn't even know if Nott was going to play – he doubted it. Alan wouldn't bring more than Harry had. Nott was probably just escaping the common room.

Hermione and Neville were half-decent on a broom, much less at Quidditch; Melanie and Ginny wanted to get on the Quidditch team. Between them, it would be an even match.

Harry had missed playing a real game.

"Well..." Harry hedged, sneering. "I don't think it's _entirely_ up to me..." He left it clear that he wanted to smear Alan into the dirt – in the friendliest way, of course – and dropped back to the ground, his friends following.

Madam Hooch had come out when Harry had asked for the Quidditch balls, and she frowned to see him and Alan coming out of the air together – Harry's friends had already come back to the ground, Neville nervously keeping an eye out for the Bludger. She didn't seem happy to see them on the pitch together, but Harry gave her the nicest smile he could so she wouldn't be really concerned.

"Are you two having problems?" Hooch growled brusquely.

"No," Harry answered easily, "We've agreed a pick-up match, only one Bludger for our one beater each."

Madam Hooch stared between them with her sharp eyes, and Alan smiled crookedly, his smug and confident grin. She hesitated on him, and regarded Harry again for a long moment before glancing back to their friends. "Who all will be playing?"

"Myself as Seeker," Harry began, "Hermione, Ginny, and Melanie as Chasers, Neville as Beater, Ron as Keeper."

"Myself as Seeker," Alan repeated, "Blaise, Daphne, and Tracey as Chasers, Lucille as Beater, Salvador as Keeper."

Hooch frowned still, but in the end she sighed and nodded. "Back to the pitch, then, and I'll start you off. Both teams are in agreement on this?" She asked, louder so as to pitch it to the groups of friends. Nobody argued, and she stood to move towards the middle of the pitch.

They didn't get halfway across before Nanna came running from the stand she'd been on.

"I wanna _play_, Harry!"

Harry groaned, "Nanna, you're too small! You don't even have a broom!"

His little sister came up to him and planted her feet. "First off, I'm bigger than _you_ were when you came here _your_ first year!" Harry winced; it was sadly true by one single inch. "Secondly, I can easily borrow one of the twin's brooms; they've been showing me tricks since December and said I could use theirs for practise! I've got Mum's and Hooch's permission and everything. And isn't this practise? This way you can beat these snakes with _two_ Bludgers!"

Neville paled at the suggestion, but didn't voice an objection even when Harry turned to him for support. Nanna was well-known as an enthusiastic beater even at her age. She claimed to be up to it, but with Neville as the other beater, she'd be doing most of the work: Neville wasn't any good at it.

Alan cleared his throat. "Well, we can't have uneven teams, and I'm not sure I have another player..."

"I can play," Nott cut in, destroying Harry's momentary relief. "Chaser, if Tracey is willing to move to Beater. I'm not excellent, but I don't think I'm any worse than anyone else playing." He gave Harry's friends a cold, superior look. Harry didn't bother responding; his glance back to his friends showed that Ginny was doing just fine.

Harry turned to Alan, and then Davis, who appeared as thrilled with the set up as Neville was: perhaps she didn't like the Bludgers, either. Harry finally tried the last of the matter, looking to Madam Hooch who simply shook her head.

"First years may borrow brooms to participate in pick-up games. She does have your parents permission, Mr Potter. It's your call." She gave the Slytherins another suspicious look, but that had been Harry's last objection. She _was_ a good beater, she was just...his little sister. He didn't have much ground to stand on: Ron and Neville's little sister's were playing too. Alan's coterie wouldn't harm them; he expected this would be a particularly clean game, unless it really got out of hand.

"_Accio_ Fred's broom." Harry called, and the shed door bumped open. The broom danced over, coming to a stop when Nanna eagerly grabbed it and hopped on. Harry realized with a twinge that she was on a better broom than he was: The twins had gotten Firebolts last year for their birthdays, from the Marauders. He was still on his Nimbus 2001.

With the teams settled, there was no other arguments. Hooch looked between the two groups and asked again, "Mr Potter and Mr Prince have agreed upon a match. As this is a friendly match, I expect a nice, clean game. Is everyone agreed to it?"

There was a chorus of nods. Harry glanced to his friends; Neville was still looking nervous; Nanna was bouncing in place. Ron had picked out Alan's keeper and was making a staring contest with the fifth year black boy who was as tall as he was. The black boy glared back for a moment, and Ron fidgeted before nodding firmly. White teeth flashed against the boy's dark skin and he nodded as well.

There was a series of colour charms cast on sweaters, vests and shirts – red for Harry's friends, blue for Alan's (at Alan's prompting). They balanced on either side of the box of Quidditch balls, and the second Bludger was released the join the first; the Snitch tearing its way out of Hooch's hand. Word of the match had apparently spread, and students were slowly filling the stands. Harry and Alan met cold stare to cold stare... and Hooch sounded her whistle.

They launched into the air, Alan blowing him away again and Harry nearly fell off his broom when a young man's voice echoed across the pitch,

"And they're _off, _Prince versus Potter on today's first pick-up game of the year! The Quaffle starts out, and Potter's Miss Longbottom snatches it up to make a run to on Gallegos at Prince's goal!"

Harry didn't recognize the voice, but he suspected it was one of Alan's coterie. He didn't dwell on it; the Snitch was out, and he was looking down on the game play beneath him. Nott had caught the Quaffle from the black-skinned Gallegos and was barrelling down the pitch to try against Ron. Nott nearly lost his grip when Nanna shot a Bludger straight past his face. Taking advantage of his distraction, Hermione shocked everyone by batting the Quaffle out of his grip, sending it to Ginny's waiting arms below. As she continued past, Hermione was forced to dive to avoid running headlong into Pupp; the Slytherin girl jerked her broom up to get out of the way, showing an unexpected sportsmanship.

Harry's attention returned to his surroundings as Alan nearly clipped him and jerked to a halt ten feet past. Harry frowned, suspicious. Alan's personal broom didn't stop that fast; but his Nimbus couldn't get that much speed... Noting Harry's attention, Alan twitched his broom sidelong and took his hands off the grip to show it off.

Harry gagged. "A bloody _Firebolt_!_ Alan_!"

"Birthday gift," Alan drawled, "from Louis."

Harry would have liked to argue it didn't make a difference, but he'd tried playing against the twins last year. Their Firebolts had made much of the difference in the match. Jerking his chin up, Harry ground out, "Won't you help you _find_ the Snitch, now will it?"

Alan hesitated and shrugged. "Probably not. But I'll sure be able to catch up when you do."

"Arrogant arsehole!"

"Jealous toerag" Alan returned, and swept away in a circle. Harry sat there, cursing him for another few minutes before he sighed. At least he found out when they _weren't_ pitched against each other. He was _so_ getting a Firebolt before next year. That cut his Nimbus completely out.

Alan had to roll to dodge a Bludger sent from Neville his way. It wasn't exactly well-aimed, but for a Bludger that didn't necessarily matter. Harry found it targeting him on the rebound and dodged as well, idly watching it return to the fray below. Scanning the pitch in the opposite direction of Alan, Harry passed him partway through the game and asked,

"Who's commentating?"

"Malcolm Baddock," Alan answered idly. "He plans to replace Lee Jordan once he's gone. Think he's any good?"

Harry shrugged, and, glimpsing an unidentified shine, opted to drop after it in a dive. Alan followed, tailing him precisely in spite of easily having the advantage in speed. Harry didn't doubt that Alan knew he was faking him out, but they kept pace with ease and, as the ground neared, they both pulled up and broke away, much to Baddock's verbal disappointment. Harry dodged a Bludger from Davis and returned to some height. Hearing his sister's ecstatic cheer, Harry turned and found Alan looking disgruntled, and a Bludger dislodging itself from the ground. Harry shook his head and returned to his circle overhead. It brought him shortly past Malcolm, and Harry tuned back in.

"Prince and Potter return to the skies. We're sitting at Forty-Twenty, Potter's lead, but we've got Pupp at the goalposts. She shoots... and Weasley makes another save, leaving the score in place, and sending the Quaffle to Miss Weasley."

There was a cheer from one part of the stands, where a shockingly large crowd had formed, most in Gryffindor colours. There was also a spark of gold, and Harry turned about, checking for Alan... He was opposite him, thank God, and Harry flattened himself to his broom to shoot after it. Malcolm, however, was cursed observant.

"Potter's seen the Snitch! He's shooting straight, well, at us over here, and Prince is far away on the far side of the pitch. He turns- and he's coming fast; those Chasers might want to get out his way!"

Neville yelped, and yelled again. Harry hesitated; was there reason? How much chance? Breaking on a sliver-fine line, Harry dropped and spun in place, feeling the air over his knuckles flutter as a Bludger missed him by a hair. Harry sighed and straightened, trailing the Snitch as it fluttered against the barrier to the stands – he hadn't taken his eyes off it. Neville was probably having a heart attack...

Alan was coming closer – they'd reach the Snitch at almost the same time. The speck took off as if it sensed it was being followed, and Harry shot up after it. Alan swore – Harry didn't look, following that light, and he reached up, swiped, and missed. The Snitch darted behind him and Harry had barely turned when he saw a pale hand swipe – and stop, the glittering gold Snitch tight between his fingers.

For a moment they locked face-to-face and Harry opened his mouth in dismay. Alan looked almost as shocked as he felt, until he gave him a tremulous smile and a shrug, and then burst into his smug grin.

Harry took full advantage of the characterization of Slytherin and Gryffindor's rivalry to start ranting – and hoped Alan didn't take him too seriously. "It's your bloody broom that got you that, Prince! Nothing but your damn broom!"

"Either way," Alan drawled, thickening his accent deliberately, "I still win."

Harry cursed his name and called him a son of a bitch, and turned to drop to join his friends. Alan turned as well, the Snitch held triumphantly overhead. His friends were upset at the loss, but still flushed from the game. Neville looked grateful just to be back on solid ground, but Nanna's eyes were bright with indignation.

Alan and his friends were making quite a bit of noise across the pitch. Hooch was standing in the middle and finally drifted over to their team for no apparent reason. Once within hearing, she said,

"Twenty points to both of your houses for the cleanest game I've seen between Gryffindor and Slytherin in my entire tenure. You go have fun, alright?"

"Course ma'am," Harry nodded, and went to gently punch his sister's shoulder. "Good aim, girl."

"It wasn't good enough!" Nanna wailed. "He still got the Snitch!"

"That was the most ornery Snitch I've tried to catch, Nanna. It practically jumped into his hands. You slowed him down, and that was good."

She frowned. "He was going a lot faster than you."

Harry grimaced. "He got a _Firebolt_ for his birthday. I'm still on my Nimbus. A Firebolt clean outstrips a Nimbus."

The Slytherin's landed much closer than Harry had expected, and Hooch went to accept the Snitch from Alan and apparently share the points she was giving them. Alan looked startled, and then started grinning again before he stalked up to Harry and cockily held out his hand. Harry stepped up, much to Hooch's dismay, and accepted, gripping tight, but not painfully so, and letting go quickly.

Alan wiped his hand on his shirt and said, "A very well played game, Potter. I thank you for allowing it. I hope you'll have the same luck next year when we play for real."

"You caught the Snitch due to chance, Prince," Harry growled. "I'll even the playing field the next time we meet. I can't imagine what you're happy about; your team was _losing_."It was a roundabout way to enquire into Alan's perpetual good mood this morning.

Alan didn't answer clearly. "I think my success, as marginal as you think it was, is reason enough." He turned his back and returned to his friends without another word. Harry growled at being brushed off and returned to his own friends. That was the stupidest reason he could think of to be _that_ happy.

Nobody questioned his frustration with Alan, and by the time they'd put up the brooms and pads, he was caught up in everyone else's pleasure. Hermione was feeling more confident on a broom, and Nanna had not stopped talking about her beating work. Ron was simply happy to have practised and done so well for himself against chasers that weren't the Gryffindor team.

By everyone else's standards, it had been a great game. Harry shrugged off his confusion and found himself smiling. It had been a great chase against Alan, too, and he'd done really well in spite of the disparity in their brooms.

He couldn't wait to play against him again next year.

* * *

A/N: Looks like this may end up becoming a random update schedule. My apologies.  
There will also be a pause at the end of fourth year, since fifth year's rewrite is not completed. I can't give any prediction of how long it will take. I'd hate to leave this unfinished, but I have other works that need my attention first. Just giving the warning.

Hope you enjoy the chapter,

Fire & Napalm


	25. Chapter 25

The Revised Chronicles of

Those-Who-Lived

**Chapter Twenty-Five:**

"Harry, you remember what they said? You heard, right?" Nanna bounced on his arm. "I'm a shoo-in for reserve; even Katie and Angelina and Alicia agreed! I'll be on the team the year after next when the Twins are gone!"

Harry had heard. Several times. Nanna hadn't been able to contain her excitement all weekend. Now, at supper on Sunday evening, she was still pouncing on him and reminding him of it. The entire regular Gryffindor Quidditch team – and, from glimpses Harry had had, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff's teams as well – had filled the stands as soon as they heard that a pick-up game was turning into a full match. They'd only been too happy to critique the hopefuls on their performance.

Still, Harry wasn't entirely satisfied. He still didn't know why Alan was grinning so widely. At breakfast, Severus had been just as cheerful. While Harry's friends and house were all bright and cheery because of a good match (it was amazing what even a lost game of Quidditch could do for their morale) Harry was still gnawing on the problem that was Alan.

Nothing interesting had come from his parents that day, except for his father reporting that he had seen the article, and – while he wasn't surprised Snape had knocked up a whore – that really wasn't something he'd needed to know about him, and he wasn't going to stoop low enough to use it against him or his child – his kid especially didn't deserve that. He included a stern order that Harry not use that against him either. Harry supposed last year hadn't helped his father's opinion of his temper.

Harry also strongly suspected that it had been his mother who had corrected his father on the 'not using it against Snape' part.

Alan was seated once again amidst his gathered coterie, which now included Theodore Nott, and he was apparently in deep conversation with all of them, earning himself incredulous exclamations and other responses that only made Alan smile. Harry frowned. He needed to get Alan's attention. He ignored dessert, spinning his fork in his hand as he ran through several ideas. It was finally Neville who elbowed him out of it, and, as he received his friend's irritated glare, Harry suddenly smiled and excused himself.

It was a spell from the Dark Arts book that came to mind, one he'd seen before too. Harry stopped just outside the doors of the Great Hall and crouched to whisper, _"Serpensortia."_

A small, black and green snake dropped from his wand to the ground, and Harry called it onto his hand. He felt a shiver of nerves: he'd never really spent much time with any snakes before, but he raised his hand and opted to be polite.

"Hello," he hissed.

"Who are you?" the snake hissed, tasting the air and flicking Harry's nose. "What did you summon me for?"

"I... need to send a message," Harry elaborated, still a little stunned. The spell conjured a snake, but it wouldn't last, depending on the caster's skill and power. Harry wasn't too worried about power; it was skill he wasn't sure about. "The boy... you can smell Parselmouths, can't you?" It had been in the book '_Serpent-Tongue_' at least.

"Yesss." The snake bobbed it's head. "To another Parselmouth? What must I say?"

"Ask him to meet the other Parselmouth in the library. He knows who I am."

"Very well."

Harry lowered his hand and added, "It's the first table; he's on the side closer to the wall."

The snake bobbed its head again, and Harry hit it with a disillusionment charm before it could be seen – now he just hoped it didn't get stepped on on it's way. He could follow the shimmer of the disillusionment spell with his eyes, and once it disappeared beneath the chairs, Harry turned and went to the library to wait for Alan.

It was forty-five minutes before Alan arrived. Harry had gotten into a book, but he jumped when something slithered onto his shoulders. Harry glared at Alan and then flinched as something brushed his cheek. He turned and found the black and green snake draped over his shoulders.

Alan sat down across from him with a grin. "Now that's odd," Alan observed. "It's a magical snake, isn't it?"

"A conjuration," Harry clarified. "Remember the spell Malfoy used second year? It's the same one."

"Interesting. I asked Louis about it, but he wouldn't teach me, said it was both useless and Dark." Alan raised an eyebrow. "Of course, he's not a Parselmouth."

Harry swallowed the pinch that came from knowing Alan knew he'd used a Dark spell, and before his conscience could pinch him again, he raised his wand and undid the conjuration. The faint weight on his shoulders disappeared, and Harry shut his book to frown at Alan. "What's got you grinning like the cat that ate the canary all weekend, Alan?"

Alan stretched, making a pleased sound and smiled again. "I'm surprised it wasn't in the paper," Alan said, "but it wasn't a very accurate spell either. I do know she's gone missing."

"Who has?"

"Rita Skeeter."

Harry blinked. "What do mean?"

Alan glanced around and hit the bookshelves with a privacy charm. "My dear and lovely aunt... You remember what I told you about my cousins, right?"

"Louis, Green and..." Harry faltered. He hadn't met the last, he didn't think. There had been so many people at the Triwizard cup he hardly remembered them.

"Amaranth," Alan finished. "Amaranth is a spell-smith, and a researcher. He's kinda in the middle of the two, sanity wise."

Harry stifled a snort. That did not say much.

"Anyways, he's researching a weird spell he refuses to tell me about that's a kind of aimless transfiguration – really powerful. He says he's tried it..." Alan faltered. "You know America has the death penalty, right?"

Harry frowned, really confused now. "Yes...?"

"Well, Salem has some... experiments that are really dangerous. And you don't want those used on people who aren't sentenced to die, so he'd tried on criminals from Death Row and the results were... not pretty, in most cases."

Harry was significantly more worried and disgusted than before. "And what, did your aunt try this on Skeeter?"

Alan rubbed the back of his neck and then nodded. "Nnnn... Yeah. Sent it in the mail."

"She did _what_?"

Alan laughed. "Yeah, that was reportedly both Louis and Amaranth's response."

"What if it went off on somebody else?"

"I... don't think she cared." Alan shrugged once again.

Harry wanted to slap him. "So she's just going to risk... whatever that was happening to anybody?"

"I didn't say I agreed! But still... Rita's disappeared. The only other response to that spell was the person changed into an animal, like an Animagus, except they couldn't change back. So chances are, Rita's stuck until she can find someone to change her back; she's not even dead!"

Harry stuck to his offence and glared. It didn't excuse the risk.

"Harry, what am I going to do? Lecture my own Aunt on her mistakes?" Alan asked, spreading his hands. "She was wrong; I wouldn't do that, but honestly since it's Rita, I don't really care all that much. It didn't go wrong. Once you're past the danger, there's no point anymore. If she was on the Animagus register she'd be able to get recognized by someone even then, but she's not."

Harry turned his head aside and scowled still. They sat in silence, Alan finally turning aside and pulling out parchment and two textbooks to start on his own work. Harry leaned forward to pull his open once more – he was trying to start Moody's essay on hexes, but he wasn't sure he could focus anymore...

"Are you going to report it to your father?" Alan asked dully.

Harry blinked. "No. Why would I?"

"Well if you're so offended... Never mind."

Harry grimaced and fell silent again. Would he report it? He had no proof. And while his father arguing with Alan's aunt would be funny, Harry hadn't liked how observant she was when he saw her over the summer. He didn't need her talking to his father.

Harry stopped himself and shook his head. If he was worrying about his own situation, it couldn't matter that much to him. "No, I'm going to not tell my dad."

Alan sent him a smile and then tilted his head slightly. "Harry... Have you ever been curious about Occlumency?"

Harry frowned. "What, you mean the stuff you had to learn over the summer?"

Alan nodded idly.

"No, I haven't. I think Professor Zen may have something or another about it, but it's NEWT stuff, not OWL. What exactly is it?"

"Counterpoint to Legilimency," Alan started. "It's closing your mind to any invasion, while Legilimency is trying to get in. It takes a lot of concentration or not, depending on how you learn it." Alan grinned, "After trying to teach me one type for two months, Louis just tossed me into the other and I took to it like a fish to water."

"There's different types?" Harry scowled, but suddenly an alarm on Alan's watch went off. His friend scowled at it and then sighed, putting his books back away before stealing one of the ones Harry had pulled down. "Hey, I was going to use that."

"You don't have Defence until Thursday afternoon; I have it morning. You don't even need this book; you already know plenty about hexes."

"I want it back Wednesday at the latest," Harry retorted. "Is that alarm a warning about curfew?"

"Yes," Alan huffed. "Here, ask Zen if he has any suggestions about Occlumency and I'll try to get you a book on it from Louis."

Harry nodded. "Alright. Sounds like fun."

"How about we meet sometime around Easter to go over it in more detail? I should be able to get the Animagus potion done then, too."

Harry grinned widely. "Alright. Good luck with that essay."

"Hah, you're the one who needs luck!"

"I've never failed a Defence test!"

They split off from each other, Alan going to check out the book and Harry leaving his behind. Harry had better ones in his trunk, and one of Neville's would be a big help too. He was still turning the essay over in his mind when he got through the common room and tossed his bag on his bed to pop open his trunk. It wasn't until Neville cleared his throat that Harry looked up and asked the question that had been on his mind first,

"Neville, do you have that treatise by Theravada Glottis on counters and shields?"

"Trunk." He scooted down and kicked it, making the latch pop open. "Harry, you really like that corner in the library, don't you?"

Harry blinked, his mind crashing to a halt. "Um, yes?"

"Do you normally spend two hours or more there with Alan Prince?"

Harry couldn't come up with an answer. Neville was watching him with an unreadable expression. When Harry couldn't respond, he just sighed, shrugging and tucking back behind a book. There was a parchment open on the bed next to him, and Harry felt his mouth go dry. He was willing to bet good money it was the new Marauder's Map... And it had just confirmed to Neville that Harry and Alan weren't rivals, they were friends.

Harry forced himself to pick out the books he wanted and fished the other out of Neville's trunk before crawling onto his bed to try and do the work. He couldn't concentrate.

Neville still hadn't said anything. Harry doubted Neville would. There wasn't actually anything _wrong_ with him and Alan being friends. He just didn't want it well known. Last year he and Alan had been able to distract everyone with their fights, but this year he neither had the heart nor the permission – Harry did _not_ want to know what detention with Dumbledore was like.

Harry still hadn't told Neville about Alan being another candidate for the Prophecy nor that Dumbledore had told Alan the same about him. With all the stress on Alan, Harry was feeling more and more Gryffindor as he struggled to support him. Neville would have been a fool not to notice eventually, especially with that damn map Harry hadn't opted to take from him.

He was overreacting. Nothing had changed. Neville wouldn't hurt him or Alan. Harry stubbornly opened the book and started reading the contents. Neville just didn't seem to like Alan all that much. Maybe if he introduced them, they'd get along... Maybe...

IIII

Tuesday evening Harry stayed after class during Meditations and cautiously approached Professor Zen. The stern man was flipping through their essays from last week and didn't seem to be aware of him until Harry stopped in front of his desk.

"Something has been on your mind," Professor Zen observed, looking up sharply. "Well?"

"I was curious... about what you know of Occlumency."

"Occlumency, the discipline of emptying your mind to prevent its secrets from reaching anyone you do not wish to know no matter how they may try to pry them away," he recited. "It's counterpoint of Legilimency, a more complicated and difficult discipline that involves reaching inside another's mind to tease out their secrets and memories. They're both NEWT or further work. Why are you curious now?"

Harry blushed and tried to think of a reasonable explanation. He opened his mouth and closed it. Would Professor Zen know if he was lying? He didn't know if his teacher knew both of those or not – which meant he could very well be reading his mind anyways. Harry dropped his eyes and shrugged.

"Good response." Professor Zen congratulated him and popped open a drawer. "Curiosity, for whatever reason, is not worth punishment. Knowing it now, if you are able, would be bonus points for your OWL and move you well towards your NEWTs." He placed one of the European Magical Monthly magazines on his desk and slid it over. "There's an article on Occlumency on page thirty-eight. Read it, summarize, and find a good excuse for yourself and hand it in – I'll grade it as bonus work." He smiled suddenly, a real, honest smile that looked weird on a man normally as reticent as Snape or McGonagall. "Not that you need it. You're an excellent student. I wouldn't be surprised if you were capable of Occlumency at your present state."

Harry blushed again and accepted the magazine before leaving, his face still hot.

Alan got the book on Occlumency to Harry two weeks after they'd discussed it, promising he should have the potion done early into the Easter break. Shortly after that, Neville mentioned that he wanted to see the Animagus book again to move further in his own work. Harry cautiously asked him if he wanted to come with him to talk to Alan about the potion... although when he asked, he had to keep breaking off with qualifiers until he told himself to shut up.

Neville only shrugged, and Harry turned and explained that Alan was thinking about teaching him Occlumency. That got Neville's attention, and he demanded to read the book. Harry didn't see the book again for a week. Fortunately, he'd read over the initial exercises and found them to only be a little different from the various meditation styles he'd already learned in class.

He finished the essay for Professor Zen the week before Easter, and it was two days into the holidays before Harry got the expected note from Alan – in an unexpected manner.

Neville came up from the library well before Harry would have expected him: It was hardly an hour past lunch. Harry jumped when he sat next to him, pulling away from his Defence text to frown at his brother. Neville handed him a folded note, and Harry gave him an odd look. He hefted the Charms textbook he was reading and it flickered, showing the slate-and-silver cover of the Occlumency book. Harry blinked and flipped open the note.

It was Alan's handwriting – he knew that perfectly now – and he was asking Harry to come join him in the Chamber and to bring Neville, if he wanted to. Alan admitted he'd be bringing Blaise and Daphne. Harry felt a twinge of nerves, and not entirely based out of secrecy – and not related to the Animagus or Occlumency work, either. Bringing their friends wasn't a bad thing – they were all curious, weren't they? It was all practical work...

Besides, people would ask fewer questions if they disappeared with their friends. It meant those friends wouldn't hang around making uncomfortable connections and possibly coming to the wrong conclusions.

Harry refolded the paper and huffed. They were only breaking one or two laws by becoming Animagi. Occlumency wasn't regulated – although Legilimency was. Dumbledore hadn't told him to stay _out_ of the Chamber, after all.

Harry shut his book and put it into his bag before standing and shouldering it to grin at Neville. "I think it'd go better if I was working in the library, you're right. Let's go?"

Neville marked his page, shut the book and took the note from Harry, glancing over it as he followed him out the portrait hole. Neville's bag was dragging on one arm, and he shifted it up onto his shoulder as he tucked the note in next to his bookmark.

"Harry," Neville asked, glancing around to see that the coast was clear. "What was Prince doing, giving me this note?"

Harry shrugged. "He must have noticed it was his book you were reading and presumed you knew."

"And how, exactly, did he know what book I was reading?" Neville hissed. "I have it glamoured so well _Flitwick_ hasn't even noticed it's there!"

Harry tried to wrap his mind around that and finally shrugged. "Good question. Ask him."

"'Ask him'?" Neville scowled. "Just, 'ask him'?"

"What, you think I know all his secrets? He's told me a few times he's got weird eyes, but I haven't been able to get it out of him. You go throw it in his face. Maybe he'll finally give a straight answer."

"I intend to," Neville growled, and thumbed the note in his book again. "Why is Prince bringing Zabini with him?"

"Alibi, probably." Harry shrugged. "And he's had problems getting hexed all year. Better to have friends and more targets, rather than less. And who wouldn't want to learn how to be an Animagus? Not to mention how useful Occlumency is."

"That's our book he's sharing out, remember?" Neville grumbled. "You do remember how illegal that book is?"

"They probably think it's his; he'd be able to get it easily enough. Besides, neither of them would out us."

"You trust them?" Neville asked, incredulously.

"They're Slytherin," Harry shrugged. "I'm a better ally than an enemy. Simple enough. Same for you."

Neville paused and blinked before he caught up with Harry on the landing. Harry had just shocked Neville. He hadn't anticipated that.

Then again, Neville had always been a very straight-forward rules person. The Slytherin games of give-and-take just weren't his kind of thing. His thinking usually got complicated in regards to Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and spell craft – not politics and alliances. The Longbottoms had been a very 'soft' pureblood family for several generations now, and stayed out of politics.

They made it all the way to the second floor before Neville asked another question,

"Why am I a better ally than enemy?"

Harry gave Neville a long look, and then smiled and shook his head, leading him to Myrtle's bathroom without answering. Neville was scowling as he followed, and he remained silent through his nod to Myrtle... through him dropping down the pipe, and through his own arrival, and Harry shutting the sink behind them.

He finally spoke as they started down the hallway.

"Is my name really all that important?"

"Yes and no," Harry answered, smiling. "It's not everything, though."

"I'm not that good," Neville argued. "You're magically stronger than me by a long shot, and Hermione gets the better grade, more often than not, since she actually studies."

Harry rolled his eyes. "And that makes Hermione important in spite of her lack of a family name. You've got the money, the skill, and the intelligence all together, and you're my friend and the friend of several other purebloods. Stop being modest." Harry turned to make a face at him. "Hell, you've got that natural skill to judge power. I can't do that."

"Your mother does it all the time."

"And it drives my dad nuts!"

Neville rolled his eyes and demanded, "Is this going to be like one of those stuffy pureblood parties?"

Harry snorted, almost dismissed it and then paused. "With Zabini and Greengrass there... it might be. Just try and be comfortable, okay?"

"Harry," he whined. "I _hate_ politics."

Harry shrugged and strode through the open portal in the main room, leading Neville over to the table, where Alan was walking with Blaise and Daphne. Alan turned to give Harry a smile that was more a quirk of his lips than anything and returned to finish his discussion with his friends. Harry glanced back at Neville and was surprised to see him with a mostly blank face, nearly the equal of the closed expression Zabini was giving them, save for the tension around his eyes that creased his brow.

Harry took the seat to Alan's right, opposite Zabini, as Neville took the next seat down from him. Harry was surprised the seat had been left open, especially as Zabini glared at him. Ignoring Neville's irritation once more, even as he no longer really knew just what was causing it, Harry leaned back and threw Alan a brilliant smile.

"Good evening, Alan."

Alan nodded to Harry and threw Neville a polite smile that Neville mirrored almost perfectly. Alan's smiled widened.

"Thanks for coming, Harry. Good to see you, too, Longbottom. I believe you both already know Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini?"

Neville nodded politely and turned to address Alan once more. "I appreciate the invite, Prince, although I don't understand why you thought to ask."

"I noticed you were reading my book," Alan grinned. "The glamour spell wasn't as good as it could have been."

Harry bit his lips as Neville stared a moment longer and wondered how bad the fight would get.

Neville responded softly, "You're saying you can see _through_ Favreau's Mantle of Innocuity?"

Alan went very still, and Harry threw Neville an admiring look. He hadn't known Neville had mastered _that_. _That_ was Auror-level glamour. If you didn't get it right, it didn't take. Harry doubted _Moody_ could notice it was there, much less see through it. Chances are he hadn't if Neville had been using it regularly.

"I never said I could see through it," Alan allowed carefully. Harry wondered how much lying he was about to do. Zabini and Daphne looked just as interested as he and Neville were. "I... Louis taught me several ways to detect glamour." He rallied, his eyes relaxing and his smile widening again. "Considering how close you and Harry are, I figured you might be reading the Occlumency book. You were mouthing the basic meditation lock I know very well."

Neville's look faded to a considering glance, nodding slowly – he did talk to himself when he read. Harry recognized that set to his face: it meant Alan had suddenly brought a spell to mind. Detecting Favreau's Mantle was more work than casting it, and while Alan getting into the Tournament argued that level of skill, Harry, at least, knew Alan wasn't at that level of theory yet. Harry actually knew that Alan was struggling to master the first of the NEWT spells.

Neville wasn't the only one eyeing the other with deep interest. Alan was just as surprised at Neville's skill.

Harry was just wondering why Neville hadn't torn Alan's excuse apart yet. He'd skipped a lot of detail, although the mention of Louis was nice – and suspicious. However, Harry wasn't going to lose out on Neville actually capitulating the point. If he started demanding, and Alan didn't want to tell, it would break them apart – possibly permanently. Harry did not want them to be against each other.

"What did you plan on going over first, Alan? Animagi or Occlumency?" Harry asked.

"Occlumency," Alan answered immediately, shifting his attention to Harry, "then we'll do Animagi. There's enough of that oil for the three of us – me, Blaise, and Daphne, and I have your potion already finished, with some extra in case one of us has need of it. I trust Neville would just like the book back?" Alan scooted back and fished it out of his bag as he finished talking, sliding it over to Neville with a smile. His eyes were bright with curiosity. "What was your form?"

"Dun thoroughbred stallion," Neville answered.

"Awesome form," Alan grinned. "Sounds like fun." He leaned back, glanced at his bag, and then frowned at Harry and Neville. "Do you have that Occlumency book?"

Neville slid it over hesitantly and, as Alan began to flip through, asked, "What branch are you going to cover with us anyways?"

Alan blinked. "I was thinking of explaining the Plane first and seeing how well you got that before going into the Crystal shield, which is what worked initially for me. I'm still trying to perfect the Plane, myself."

Neville nodded, folding his arms on the table. "I preferred the Crystal method myself. I understood that immediately."

"Daphne couldn't do it," Alan shrugged, "And Blaise finds it offensive. You can honestly do more with the Plane than the Crystal, which is why I'm trying to learn it."

Harry felt a pinch and was rather glad he hadn't opted to bring Hermione down. He'd just introduced two of his very theoretical friends. Three would have definitely been too many; two was going to be bad enough. He hadn't read the book all the way, only as far as Alan had recommended. He hadn't bothered to tell Neville that; he wouldn't have listened.

However, he did not appreciate being left out as they tossed the concepts back and forth. Daphne didn't look any happier. Harry gave her a smirk and a shrug, and she smiled before straightening.

"Boys," she snapped.

Alan halted in mid-sentence and turned to give her his politest face. Blaise was rolling his eyes and Neville frowned, subsiding into his seat once more.

Neville dryly asked. "Yes?"

She gave him a sweet smile. "Could you two explain that to us normal people again, in terms we can understand?"

Neville sighed and turned beseechingly to Harry who only gave him a wide grin. He tried to appeal to Alan, but found the boy grinning just as widely as Harry. Throwing his hands in the air, he asked, "Who first, then?"

"Go ahead. Explain the Crystal as you understood it." Alan grinned.

Neville rubbed a hand over his face and started. "The Crystal is... based on creating a barrier between your mind and the outside. It is a kind of shield that won't allow anything in or out, pretty much locking your mind completely from interference of any kind. It draws on your magical reserves for power, and while maintaining it doesn't take much, getting it up does." He turned to Daphne with a shrug. "You, Daphne, don't really have enough power to get it started, and Blaise would probably struggle." He turned a little pink. "For me, Harry, and Alan, though..."

"It'd be a piece of cake," Blaise sneered. "And you might as well light a bonfire to announce that you're scared of anyone prying."

"Hence the Plane," Alan cut in before Neville could respond to Blaise's sarcasm. He glared at his friend, and then smiled between Harry and Daphne with enough amusement Harry promised to hex him one for it. "The Plane is closer to the class of Meditations than the Crystal method, because while the Crystal only takes the concentration to get it up, the Plane is precipitated by maintaining the state of calm and order in your own mind. It's a matter of..." Alan frowned and made a waffling motion with his hand, "...keeping your mind clear, or something. Not drawing someone into your anxieties – cutting the ties of your secrets from your 'outside' mind." He made another face. "I still don't really get it."

Blaise pulled the book over and began to scan down the page. Harry sighed and folded his arms as silence fell, Alan still looking thoughtful as Daphne traced designs on the table.

"From what I gathered, reading," Neville offered, "it's keeping the emotion out of it so there's not that 'tie' back to the secret."

"But how do you manage that?" Harry asked, exasperated.

"By putting up a subtle mental block." Neville shrugged. "I don't know meditations; I can't explain it better than that."

"Mental block?" Harry frowned. "You mean, like a smokescreen?"

"How do you even know what a smokescreen is?" Alan had tilted his chair back, frowning.

"Because it's not a new concept, and the article Professor Zen gave me talked about it." Harry explained with exaggerated patience. "It talked about keeping idle thoughts 'outside' and putting a smokescreen, like a mental image, between your secrets and the outside. Imagery was something it said was very important, like hiding your secrets in the eye of a hurricane..." Harry shrugged again. "I think the author was some American they'd dragged over."

"What magazine?"

"European Magical Monthly."

Blaise put down the book and whistled. "My mother gets that. Half the time she throws it across the room, but two years ago they did an article on the Pureblood mansions, and they opted to showcase ours. She was really flattered... has been getting it ever since. It's good stuff. They had a wizard give an interview from what he remembered of serving Grindelwald during World War Two."

"Enough." Neville frowned and asked, "What do you do when someone attacks you with the Plane, though? It said something about forcing them out, but how do you do that when you don't have anything but a wispy mental image on board?"

"That's easy." Harry grinned immediately. "Meditations has that answer: you just focus and throw them out. Magic's all about your mind anyways; it's really easy to pick something up and toss it out when someone invades your own mind – they're on your territory, and unless you don't notice or they're stronger than you, you have the advantage."

"Which is why I like the Plane," Blaise repeated. "Unlike you, Neville, I'm not a great and wondrous mage overflowing with power. Keeping people from knowing anything I don't want to give away, without them even knowing I'm not telling them everything, sounds like a really good plan to me."

"The Plane also has advantages against the Imperius that the Crystal does not," Alan interjected, "because of how intimately you learn your own mind, but that's immaterial at this point. I think we've all determined what we're planning on learning?"

Harry and Daphne nodded easily. Blaise sat back in his chair and inclined his chin as Neville crossed his arms and deliberately started ignoring the black boy.

"Just one more question," Daphne put in. "What would break through the Crystal defence?"

"Overpowering it," Alan answered immediately. "Basically, you have to bulldozer – er..." he corrected himself as Daphne stared blankly, "...run it over, like, charge like a bull straight at it. If you're stronger than the person holding it, or in better condition after wearing them down, it'll shatter – the person will end up pretty dazed, but since more who can use it are really strong, it doesn't happen often."

"And it takes work to get it up?"

"A minute or two concentration," Alan allowed, "But getting it down takes the same concentration unless it shatters or you're drugged off your ass. The Plane is ingrained habit once you get the hang of it, but again, getting drunk or otherwise incapacitated can make it shift and lose its cohesion."

"Great," Neville sighed and sat back. "Are we starting with the Occlumency first?"

"The basics," Alan nodded. "You can read the book if you really want to, since I'm starting with the Plane exercises."

Neville nodded and propped up the Animagus book, flipping through to the halfway point. Harry ignored him and listened to Alan, quickly growing impatient. He already knew how to meditate. Partway through, he stole the book back from Blaise and started reading ahead, ignoring Alan's amused stare. Neither Daphne nor Blaise were in Meditations, so they had to start with clearing their minds. Harry was already aware of his 'mental landscape', and while he hadn't made any effort to change it before, he knew the theory...

The 'smokescreen' was best used with a vivid and unwelcome memory. Harry was stuck between toying with the acromantula or the three-headed dog for his when Alan wrapped up the first meditation practise for Blaise and Daphne and pulled out the Animagus potion. Harry took it eagerly, lay down on his folded robe, and closed his eyes.

The potion had tasted strongly of garlic and oregano. Harry sniffed and sneezed, and vivid lights burst behind his eyelids.

The lights faded to grey, and then to forest – he couldn't tell if it was the same as last time or not. He was looking down on the red-and-white dog and watching it sniff the trail, casting about for a scent. It was probably as tall as his waist, just thicker than a wolfhound, and definitely stronger – clearly, this wasn't just a tracking animal. It started a slow lope, gaining pace, its pack coming up around it as the chase began again.

An abrupt turn into the woods and Harry was jolted into its body again. He could smell the trail it followed – mule deer, big prey, a challenge and a joy to run down. He could taste the anticipation, hot blood and adrenaline. The great paws beat the ground in time, pulling him forward, faster, stronger...

The potion made him hyper-aware of everything, the pull on the muscles, the lay of the body, the strength and connections. He could feel where the joints came together, the lashing tail and perked up ears. The thought of the deer made his mouth salivate, and the feelings and reasons came together – the hunt was all: the chase, the take-down, the fight. The Cwn Annwn were seekers, eager to find, eager to act, eager to take the lead – but heedful of their pack, and their hunter. It wasn't the blood that drew them, it was the challenge.

Harry woke up with a headache. Groaning, he moved to sit up and glanced around. Another possible cause was standing face-to-face across the room in the middle of an argument. Not five feet away, Alan was lying down, hands on his stomach, with a peaceful expression on his face. Harry glanced back over at Neville and Blaise and decided he couldn't put that off anytime soon. Forcing himself to stand, reclaim his robe, and find a seat at the table across from Daphne put him close enough to find out what the two were arguing about.

"– It's _really_ unlikely," Neville sneered. "I haven't heard much about your line, but you're almost definitely more pure than the Princes, and do you even know _anything_ about the Adamidis? Harry's my fourth cousin, and sure, the Potters are better, but his mother's _muggleborn –_"

"I think it's safe to say I might know more about the Prince line, and in spite of everything they're very refined and picky."

"And that's why Alan's grandfather is, in fact, a _muggle_. If you want to use _those two_ as an example, I think it's safe to say that it's _muggle blood_ with more bearing on their magical Animagus than their magical lineage."

"That's a completely absurd concept," Blaise spat. "It's a _magical_ Animagus! It's impossible that it could come from muggle blood! Do muggleborns even _have_ Animagus ability at all?"

"Harry!" Neville spun on him, and he jumped. "Did your mother try for her Animagus?"

"Not yet." Harry blinked. "Why? She's planning on it; I think her idea was to do it with me. I think she's going to have to do it with Nanna.

Neville threw his hands in the air and groaned. "There's no evidence that they _don't_!"

"And you don't have any that they _do_!" Blaise crowed.

Harry rolled his eyes and tuned it out to turn to Daphne. "_What_ are they arguing about?"

"Whether being pureblood means you have a magical Animagus or not." She shrugged. "I don't really care. I'd more think it was related to power."

"Why are they arguing?"

"Alan's turned out to be a kneazle. He's taken the potion, and we're waiting on him now." She leaned back and sighed, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Harry felt a blush starting and asked the first question that came to mind. "What was your form?"

She shrugged. "A robin. I'm not interested in pursuing it; it was either I come along, or Lucille was going to butt in. I wasn't sure it would be smart to let her meet you and your friends at this point; she's not the friendliest person I've ever met."

Harry could well imagine. Harry's father had met her mother; the woman had nearly tried to attack him. He wasn't sure how far apart the girl and her mother might be, although the fact that she actually got along with Alan boded well. He turned back to where Neville and Blaise had knocked over a chair and were still arguing and asked,

"How much longer do you think they're going to last? Are they even on the same topic anymore?"

"I don't think so." Daphne shrugged. "Bet you a sickle they don't stop 'til Alan wakes up?"

Harry turned and found her grinning winsomely his way. Heat rushed again, but he didn't think he was blushing. "Sure. How long has Alan been out?"

"About half-an-hour. He woke a few minutes before Blaise, about the same time as me. You were out for over an hour."

"It's not going to take them that long to die down."

She held out her hand. "Bet you they do."

Harry took her hand and smiled. "You're on."

Daphne had very soft hands.

IIII

Harry lost a sickle that evening and left for the common room with a red-faced Neville. His brother was beaming by the time they reached the Fat Lady and peppered him with questions about meditation when they sat down in their dorm.

They met again that weekend to thrash out the last questions about the meditations and go into the middle-ending theory of the Animagus transformation that gave Harry another headache. He was spending some time looking over dog anatomy books to really get a sense of the information packed into his head and had written Sirius another letter, getting an answer just as complicated.

Neville, it seemed, was perfectly happy with his and eager to get going on his Animagus – his competitive nature had kicked in again, and he was serious about getting one over on Blaise Zabini. The two had yelled each other into a first-name-basis and now weren't going to let the other live it down.

Harry had given up on talking them out of it, and instead used it to get Neville to start practising the Plane Occlumency with him. It was particularly effective after Neville talked Harry and himself through the Crystal defence, and they succeeded at it by the time Alan found out what the Third Task was going to be at the end of May.

They didn't meet in the Chamber again. Alan left Harry and Neville to teach themselves, spending a lot of time in the Library, not talking to anybody – even Harry when he went to join him there. He was studying a variety of spells with intense focus, and Harry had barely managed to wrangle the 'why' of it out of him: the last task was a hedge maze. The simple fact that Hagrid was helping supply the monsters for it was enough to keep Harry silent.

Neville was aware of Harry's worry now, and the full why of it, and began to pester Harry to step up his Occlumency and class work. The reminder of end-of-year tests coming up still didn't keep Harry's worry fully at bay, but when Neville brought Hermione in on it, it become quite a bit more successful because he didn't have any excuses anymore.

Neville also reminded him that Alan was at least as clever as they both were, with a strong grounding in how to keep himself alive. Neville's respect and his own finally brought his heart-rate down, and Harry spent the last two weeks of waiting in relative peace.

The weekend before the tests started, Alan ran into them in the library and took a moment to close his books and smile. "How's it going?"

Harry opened his eyes at him and grinned. "Good. I've got the Plane going strong, and it's getting there towards being habit. Yours?"

"My father has harassed me into getting it settled, yes." Alan grinned. "I've definitely gotten practise taking down and putting up the Crystal, you can say that." He sat down, looked at his book again and tossed it onto the table in disgust. "Do either of you have a decent random book I can look through? I think I've exhausted everything easily found in the library, and my eyes are crossing from trying to read the worn and faded spines in the Restricted Section."

Harry straightened his glasses and laughed. "I dunno, I think Neville stole a prank book from my dad during Christmas, last year. Do you still have that in your trunk?"

Neville frowned. "You know, I think I do..."

"Would you let me borrow it?" Alan asked.

Neville turned to stare at Alan, but Alan was serious. With a faint grumble, Neville shrugged and stood up. "Gimme a min..."

Harry watched him go and stopped his own work to stretch out. Alan draped himself over the wooden chair he'd taken and Harry paused mid-stretch to look him over. He didn't look half as worried as he'd been before either of the previous tasks, and Harry said so.

Alan shrugged it off. "I'm confident I can pass almost anything they could throw at me. Most of what I'm doing is brushing up and finding obscure spells – the most basic things I'd need to know to get through a maze I learned years ago just to keep falling into a trap in the hall." Alan snickered into his hand. "Seriously. The Alfaerus are notorious for making things difficult for each other, and a trapped hallway isn't out of the question in their school. And some of the things they bring home wouldn't be touched by the best paid Gringotts curse-breaker." Alan shrugged. "You learn how to get around."

Harry nodded and gave it a breath of time before he said, "I'm glad you like Neville."

Alan turned to look at him and shrugged awkwardly. "He's alright. Smart, definitely, and sharp. He learns really damn quickly and amazingly, he still has some sense. That's a new one, for me. Most of the smart people I know barely have enough common sense to fill a thimble. I think he's smarter than Amaranth."

"But not Louis." Harry grinned.

Alan glared at him. "Nobody's smarter than Louis. You want me to say he's smarter than your mom?"

Harry bristled and got the point. "Fine, forget I said it."

Alan smiled insufferably and was spared a hex by Neville returning with the book. He appraised the look of them and shook his head, dismissing their argument as silly and not worth his time as he sat back down with his own textbook.

Alan glanced over the book he'd brought and then looked at Neville's History of Magic textbook, propped up between him and the Gryffindor. He glared, and Harry glanced between Alan's irate attention and Neville's reading. Quickly, Harry put it together and realized he had another question he really needed answered. For the moment, however, he opted to confirm his suspicions.

"Neville... Why are you reading the History of Magic textbook? I thought you'd finished that last month."

Neville looked up and blinked, shutting the book for a moment. He startled at seeing it, and tapped the spine with his wand, mouthing several obscure words. The image flickered and changed to a Defence tome. He looked up at Harry. "Does that look better?"

Harry laughed away his shock and nodded, shaking with amusement.

"Pray tell," Alan asked, "what are you reading and... was that Favreau's again?"

Neville closed the book on his hand again and let the glamour drop for a moment, revealing a book on myths and legends before it went back up. "Yes, it's Favreau's Mantle again. I hadn't changed it from when I'd been reading during History of Magic, so... Are you still curious about me knowing it?"

Alan opened his mouth, closed it, and then asked, "How many spells of that level do you know?"

"Just the ones that caught my eye." Neville shrugged. "A few shields, the Patronus charm, and a few other spells." He paused uncomfortably. "Gremlin's Illusion Wall and Porrybaxter's Wall of Wings. Nothing else, at the moment. Those are the ones I looked up specifically, the rest I'm either not ready for, or just don't really care about."

Alan looked a little appeased; none of the spells were really extraordinary. Harry was sure he'd heard Alan talking about learning Porrybaxter's Wall of Wings before, and Harry also knew Alan had a more complete knowledge of the sixth and seventh-year spells than Neville did.

"I'd like to see what all you really know." Alan smiled. "Maybe we could practise together sometime. I've had difficulty with Porrybaxter's Wall."

Harry fought to stifle his snicker. Alan was trying to get Neville's help without indicating that he didn't know. Neville just nodded without any indication he knew what was behind his request – which boded well in them remaining friends.

"I haven't managed to get the Greenhorn Wall to work for me yet, so if you know that," he looked up and Alan nodded, "some help there would be nice. Maybe you could help me out with the last of those sixth and seventh-year spells."

Alan grinned. "Of course. What kind of Dark spells do you know, anyways?"

Neville gave Alan a blank expression. Harry could relate; it'd been awkward talking about those with Alan at first, much less in the Library. There was a ward up; Alan used those out of habit after last year. Harry paused, trying to figure out how to stop the stalemate. Alan knew all the spells he knew; he knew Neville had taught him some, especially out of the book they'd taken from the Black Library. Finally, after the silence grew uncomfortable, Harry just said,

"Neville taught me most of the Dark Spells I know."

Alan frowned. "Was he the one that taught you Fiendfyre?"

Neville outright snarled at him. "It's none of your concern!" He sent Harry a glare and began to pack up his books.

Alan frowned between them as Harry tried to shrink back into his seat, and said, "I'm not going to accuse you of anything, Neville. I'm just curious."

Neville stopped in the middle of his packing to sneer at him. "Yeah, curiosity. It nearly started a fire on my property when I first tried to cast the damn spell. You think it's smart to know Fiendfyre?"

Alan shook his head. "It's dangerous, yes, but it's not like it's stupid."

Neville glared past Alan to catch Harry's eye – Harry looked away quickly. "Depends on what you do with it," he said ominously. "Don't you have studying to do, _Prince_?"

Alan stood up with a faint nod and frowned at him. "You keep surprising me, Longbottom."

"Why," he snapped. "Because I'm a Gryffindor?"

"No," Alan didn't show any hint of discomfort at his tone, "because Light families don't usually go so far when they get curious."

Neville's shoulders relaxed slightly, and he said. "I've always been curious. I don't really care what the books are. I want to know what all's out there, and the 'Light' books don't cut it."

Alan nodded and suddenly glanced at his watch. He swore, brandishing the book. "When do you want this back, Neville?"

"Before the train ride home," he shot.

Alan nodded, saluted him with it and trotted out of the corner. Harry watched him go with an idle smile and turned back. He found Neville scowling at him.

"I didn't teach you just for you to bandy it about to everyone, Harry."

Harry shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. "He knew I knew it, Neville, and that it'd been something I was taught."

"So?" Neville tucked the book into his bag, his lack of stare now more uncomfortable than when he'd nailed him with his eyes. "That's not something you get to tell."

Harry nodded without speaking, his eyes prickling. Neville was right.

He shouldn't have spoken up.

* * *

A/N: Yeah. Way too busy with classes to keep this in order. I will finish out fourth year, and I'm very sorry that it looks like I may not get to Fifth Year in the foreseeable future; college is too much in the way. I'll keep it on hand and as an option, but there's no promises.

Thank you for reading and leaving a review.  
Fire and Napalm


	26. Chapter 26

**The Revised Chronicles of  
Those-Who-Lived**

**Chapter Twenty-Six:**

Alan woke up and groaned. He first wondered what had happened that Blaise wasn't snoring, and then took a good look at the lack of canopy overhead. He sat up and nearly tangled his foot in the wrought iron footboard. With a grumble and a groan, Alan tossed his legs out of bed and moved into the bathroom to start waking up properly.

He'd had supper with his father last night, talked through the Task in the morning, and then he'd opted to sleep in in his father's rooms rather than return to the dorm. It meant he didn't have to worry about going through a hexed door in the morning, since he still woke up before Blaise or Theodore.

Alan finished his ablutions and shouldered his backpack to make his way upstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. There was a bounce in his step: Severus had told him he'd have family present in the morning, but he'd refused to tell him who it was. It was a foregone conclusion that Louis would be present, but Severus had said more than one...

His friends were scowling as he sat down the join them and Alan could have kicked himself: He hadn't told them he'd be staying with his father.

"Alan, where were you?" Daphne snapped.

He swallowed and answered, "With my father, Daphne. What did you expect?"

She blushed, but frowned still, "Tell us, alright? Lucille is double-checking that you didn't get locked in a closet last night."

Alan opted not to beat his head on the table. He'd really thought they'd have calmed down by now, but ever since the beginning of this year and the fallout of Rita's article, his friends had closed ranks completely against the rest of the house.

"I'm sorry I worried you, but Severus just picked me up from the library and we got talking. I was tired and didn't want to risk the halls that late, so I just slept there. I barely slept in at all!"

"Alan," Theodore spoke up, gaining everyone's attention. The small pureblood was smiling wryly. "You're usually out of bed before I am in the morning; I get up at seven regularly. It's nearly nine."

"So I didn't have Blaise's snoring to wake me." Alan rolled his eyes. "I'll let Lucille know if she shows up on time, but she might arrive after my family does."

Daphne sighed and poked the tall black boy next to her. Salvador frowned and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'll make sure Lucille knows Alan did not get plastered last night. I'm _busy_."

Alan glanced over but couldn't see what he and the black sixth year girl were up to. Alan placed her in a moment: Raina Kozumplik, one of Stephanie's best friends.

Alan glanced around at the people surrounding him and sighed, a bit melancholy. They were good friends, but they were very demanding. Blaise and Daphne had latched onto him right off the bat when he arrived at Hogwarts, and drawn in Tracey Davis by sheer curiosity. Salvador and Lucille had been looking for someone to rally behind who didn't see them in the light of their families, and Stephanie, the sixth year Prefect, had just been curious.

Theodore was the oddest one. He'd been staunchly neutral most of their first few years, but when the house had divided, his position had grown precarious. When Rita's article led to the fight in the common room, it'd settled him onto Alan's side, even as uncomfortable as that position was. Tracey, however, hadn't minded in the least, much to Alan's amusement.

Lucille did return before Severus came to tap Alan on the shoulder and send him into the back room off the Great Hall once more. Alan was grateful to leave. Lucille's stare made him feel embarrassed and guilty without her saying a single word about it. He wished them luck on their exams, and strode over to the door. He pushed it open and grinned.

"Louis!"

His tall cousin held up a hand and didn't stop speaking furiously to whoever held the mirror attached to the one in his hand. Alan glanced at Krum and his parents and Fleur and hers before he acknowledged that Andrew was nearly suffocating him with a hug. Alan pushed him off after a moment to nod at Koreol, who was tucked behind Louis in the corner and blending surprisingly well into the shadows.

"Alan!" Andrew repeated.

"Fine, Andrew." Alan rolled his eyes and stepped away from him for some breathing space. "What is it?"

"Louis is lecturing Thomas on how to keep your Godfather in line, but after he's done that you're going to show us around the castle, right?"

Alan huffed. "I though Lyall was practising her knots for just such an occasion."

"Well, yeah," Andrew stared at him, "but last night was the _full moon,_ remember?"

Alan bit his lip and just nodded. Away from Salem, it was a lot easier to forget those things. "So you talked Koreol into coming here to watch me fail miserably, huh?"

"Well, him and Ranvier. I think she's- Hey Ranni!"

"Don't call me that." The heavy-set woman growled (scaring Fleur's little sister) and then smiling brilliantly at Alan. "Hey there, squirt."

Alan grinned again, tucking his hands behind his back. Andrew was the only person Alan had ever known to tease her. She still made him nervous. "Hey Ranvier."

She pulled him into a tight shoulder hug and smiled before rolling her eyes at Louis who was rapidly losing his temper. His face tightened as a familiar voice made another demand through the mirror, and Louis slammed his fist into the wall,

"I don't care _how_ you tie that damn Black pole-dancer up, or _what_ you do with him, he's staying _there_! We settled this _last night_; I'm not arguing this another _minute._ He can't even cross-continental apparate, so lock him in his room and _throw away the key_!"

Louis stuffed the mirror in his pocket. Alan heard a well-bred sniff and glanced over in time to see Fleur's little sister peering around her mother's legs at them. Alan turned away before he burst into laughter. Andrew sighed again and punched his shoulder.

"Alan!" He whined, "I wanna see this castle!"

"Andrew, your grammar." Koreol scolded.

The young vampire rolled his eyes, "Alan, please will you show up this lovely castle? I _want to_ see it." He sneered, but didn't let Koreol see.

Alan grinned and went over to hug Louis. "You want the full tour, or did you get that from Severus last time you were here?"

"Most of it." Louis smiled.

"I want to meet your friends, Alan!" Andrew bounced. "Or your rivals. Either one."

"They're all taking their exams." Alan drawled, "And I won't introduce you to my rivals; the Headmaster told them not to pick fights on pain of severe detentions. Didn't want me distracted and getting myself killed."

"You wouldn't get yourself killed." Ranvier frowned at him.

"I know _that,_" Alan sighed, "but the Headmaster here is cautious."

"So are we," Louis added. "That's part of why Koreol and Andrew are here."

And why Louis was, too, but Alan didn't want to say that out loud. If he was far enough gone he needed Louis to save him... He didn't want to think about that.

"I meant Andrew as a friend and distraction, Alan." Louis touched his chin and smiled. "How about we stop scaring the small French girl and find the nooks and crannies of this castle?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "Fine, nothing exciting will be happening until lunch, so I suppose we could wander and then meet my friends there." He turned to Andrew and waved them out the door as he kept talking, "If you're really lucky, Andrew, Draco Malfoy and his gang will try to accost us then, but please don't threaten to bite him or proposition him. I don't want him getting ideas."

"I know, I know," Andrew griped, "'part-human' vampires and all."

"Andrew Arie," Koreol admonished, "Enough."

Andrew ducked his head and slid his arm around Alan's waist to ask a bit more sheepishly, "What _can_ you show us?"

Alan shrugged. "The library. The grounds. Durmstrang's ship is on the lake, and the Beauxbaton carriage is over by Professor Hagrid's hut."

"How did they get a ship into the Hogwart's lake?" Koreol asked.

"It came up through a whirlpool, and that's all I know," Alan bit out. He was uncomfortable thinking about the lake and pushed Andrew away from him. "I'd rather show you the library and the seven floors."

"How's Beauxbatons show up?" Andrew asked.

"Flying horses and a carriage," Alan answered promptly. "They were really big horses."

"I haven't seen one of those in ages." Koreol said.

Alan smiled. "I can show you that."

The trip outside lasted until lunch. Ranvier went to coo at the Whomping Willow and got knocked over for her troubles. She considered charging the tree, but Louis dragged her away before she could try, much to Alan and Andrew's disappointment.

Alan's group was already at the table together, and Alan gleefully slapped Blaise on the back to introduce them. Louis had come here often, but had never met most of his group properly – the others were completely unknown. Most of his friends were at least suspicious, particularly of Koreol and Ranvier – for obvious reasons.

"Everybody, this is my cousin, Louis Quintelyuv, and my friend, Andrew, and his guardian Koreol. Ranvier Ericson is Louis' girlfriend, and no, she's not a troll." Alan grinned. "Seriously, she's almost better-looking than Millicent, isn't she?"

Ranvier's grin did not help matters any. Louis elbowed her and she rolled her eyes and subsided. Alan glanced around and frowned as he tried to figure out how to do the introductions.

"Louis and all, these are... Lucille," He started out on his left, "And Salvador – they're cute together." Alan ducked as Lucille slapped his shoulder and he pointed across the table from them, "Tracey, Blaise, and Theodore, in my classes with Daphne here next to me. Then there's Stephanie on Theodore's left and she has her entire dorm as her friends and I don't know them all yet."

Andrew leaned down and put his shoulder on Alan's to grin at all his friends. "Spiffy," he said.

"Andrew, stop it." Alan sighed.

He winked at him and turned to smile across the table at Blaise. "Hello y'all, How are all you pretty Brits doing?"

Blaise gave Alan a disgusted look and Alan could only roll his eyes in return. Lucille, next to him – and, thus, next to Andrew, sniffed disdainfully. "Are all Americans crazy?"

"In magical Salem," Louis answered curtly, "they are."

Lucille eyed him warily. "Forget I asked..."

IIII

Ranvier and Koreol wanted the tour of the castle afterwards, and Andrew ran along with Alan as he led the way, sometimes literally. The young vampire's only complaint was that Draco had avoided them and he didn't get to intimidate him.

As they were coming back down to the Great Hall for supper, Andrew stopped him just outside of the Entrance Hall and caught his shoulder to lean down and peck a kiss on his throat. Alan didn't argue and jerked back as soon as he was done, giving him a disgusted look. Andrew just smiled and said,

"Good luck."

Alan just shook his head and led the way into the Great Hall, ignoring Andrew and his cousin until he was seated, Louis and Ranvier on his right. Andrew had tried to follow him and been hauled away by Koreol to sit across from him.

"Alan," Ranvier asked, "Who are they men who joined the staff table?"

Alan glanced up and recognized them immediately. "Ludo Bagman and Kenner Templar. Templar replaced Barty Crouch after the fiasco at the Quidditch Cup."

"Oh." Ranvier returned to her meal without another word, satisfied.

Across from them at the table, Koreol was staring intently at Louis and Ranvier until the Sorcerer Journeyman looked up and sighed.

"Koreol, you ate."

"It's been nearly twelve hours. If you want me in peak condition, it would be better to drink again now."

Louis still shook his head. Alan noticed his friends had turned sudden, rather horrified attention at Koreol. Daphne, most unfortunately seated next to him, hesitantly asked,

"Couldn't the, uh, kitchens provide something?"

Koreol glanced over and sighed delicately. "Packaged, non-human blood is rather... substandard. It is the magic that I need to feed on, which fades rapidly upon leaving a human body. Packaged blood would simply sate my hunger, which isn't actually present." He grinned. "Which is much more technical than you asked."

Daphne nodded rapidly and edged away.

Louis didn't look up. "It's still a no, and you're not allowed to touch Ranvier, either. I need to be in good condition just as much as you do. You will be fine, and you shouldn't even be needed anyways."

Louis sent an ugly glare up at the staff table where Dumbledore was seated and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Alan smiled at him anyways. He felt better knowing that Louis was here, and worrying about it – it let him feel like he didn't need to worry about anything aside from working out the maze itself.

Andrew made a soft noise and Koreol cut him off. "You do not need anything, Andrew, much less from Alan. He had an obstacle course coming up."

Andrew looked down and grumbled, "It's not like it hurts..."

Alan looked down at his plate and swallowed hard. The last task. The last chance. He'd survived whatever was thrown at him so far, and now...

Enough. Louis was here. He didn't need to worry.

"Alan," Louis asked softly, "Do you have your Godfather's gift with you?"

Alan frowned and then jumped slightly, "Um, yeah, in my bag. Why?"

"Perhaps it would be better in your pocket." He gave him a meaningful look, and Alan swallowed again. "Just as a precaution." Louis finished, turning back to his meal.

Alan mumbled something unintelligible and moved back to fish through his bag. The gun was just at the bottom, sandwiched between a notebook and the book on pranks he still hadn't gotten back to Neville. It was easy enough to double-check the safety and sit up, sliding the black gun between himself and Ranvier and into his broad robe pocket He glanced up at Louis and got only a distracted nod. Alan wondered if he'd really need it, but after growing up at Salem, over-planning was never seen as a bad thing. It was much better than the alternative.

At Alan's side, Stephanie suddenly cleared her throat. Alan and everyone turned to look at her and she softly said, "I'm seventeen." She offered. "And... well, so long as I'm not going to be ill or anything afterwards, I'd be willing to... help, to make sure Alan will be safe."

Alan raised his eyebrows. "You don't have to, Stephanie. Koreol will be fine without."

"I wish no obligation on you, child." Koreol added, but his eyes were shiny, anticipatory.

"I'm not." She shook her head. "I'm curious."

"Ah." Koreol smiled widely and Alan was treated to the image of his fangs growing down. Stephanie admirably didn't panic, although she did squeak slightly. "If you would find a safe place where there will be no interruptions, it would be best." The vampire finished. "Preferably before we need to go down to the stands. I can find you when you are ready."

Stephanie nodded thoughtfully and turned back to her meal and her friends. Koreol turned back to ask Louis a question about the Whomping Willow outside, much to Ranvier's delight. Five minutes later, during which Andrew started teasing Alan about the food left on his plate, Stephanie blushed at her friends and squeaked again, saying something about needing to go to the bathroom and left, clutching her purse. The other girls laughed quietly, returning to their own discussion. Alan shook his head, confused, but also relieved.

Not two minutes later, Dumbledore stood and addressed the Hall.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, in five minutes time I will be asking all of you to make your way down to the Quidditch pitch for the third and last task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr Bagman to the stadium now?"

Alan licked his lips nervously and stood, turning without looking back to leave the Great Hall with Viktor and Fleur. He held his silence as he went, and quietly allowed his mind to calm in preparation for whatever they might throw at him – peace he was familiar with from mastering the Plane. He still kept the Crystal up, but inside that he had his mind sorted and neat...and calm, not matter what came.

He hoped.

The thick, twenty-foot-tall hedges ran all the way around the edges of the pitch, hiding the maze within. Bagman led them to a single, dark opening and they waited there in silence for the five minutes to pass, and the murmur of the crowd to begin as they filed into the stands above. The four teachers who'd be watching for them to request aid introduced themselves, and then went back to patrolling the edges.

Bagman cast _sonorus_ on himself again and began the announcements.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place, with eight-nine points, Alan Prince!" The applause was loud, louder than Alan had really expected. "In second place, at eighty points, Viktor Krum!" The stands exploded in sound, which Bagman had to wait out for a moment before he finished, "And in third place, Fleur Delacour!"

Alan tried to scan the crowd, but the angle was bad. He found Harry, his family, and the Longbottoms, but not Louis and Ranvier. Alan didn't make a motion at all of recognizing Harry and continued to hope he might find his cousin.

"So... On my whistle, Alan." Bagman raised the whistle to his mouth, and Alan turned his eyes to the dark break in the hedge, pushing back his own dread.

The shrill blast echoed in his ears, and Alan strode quickly into the maze, feeling both relief and mild worry as the sound from outside cut off as soon as he entered. The height of the hedges and the growing darkness shadowed the ground ahead, and made walking potentially treacherous. He kept his eyes sharp, but didn't light his wand, turning to watch the sky before moving on without casting any spells. He didn't want to ruin his night vision unless he was suspicious of something.

After fifty yards, the way forked and Alan paused before choosing left, moments before the whistle sounded again: Krum had entered the maze. Alan glanced ahead, still watching the ground foremost as he walked briskly. There appeared to be nothing along this branch, but the path turned right and Alan went around the corner – and paused. Silently he cast lumos and studied the path ahead for what had made him suspicious. The whistle sounded again; he jumped and then caught sight of the suspiciously straight lines along the hedges on either side. He brightened his light to spread it around him and picked out the ropes. They went to the ground and across the path, which was scattered with dirt and leaves – and a faint pattern that shouldn't be there.

Alan couldn't help it. He smiled. It was a net, and the trigger was just in front of him, a spelled cord at ankle height with only a faint trip jinx on it. He didn't find another trigger and finally just stepped over the cord and walked straight across the net and up the path. He reached another fork and went left, getting halfway up that path before he heard a startled scream behind him. He laughed. Apparently one of the others had taken his path and had not caught sight of the trap. He turned back around and stopped, feeling something tingling at the tip of his foot.

Alan looked down and swore. Just at his toes was a shimmering patch, like heat off pavement or a hot car – except the air was chilly, and the ground was packed dirt. Alan shifted his weight back without lifting his foot and cast a detection spell. The patch was a _confundus_ charm, waiting to take hold when he removed his foot and triggered it. Alan easily countered it, and checked the ground ahead before moving forward. He hadn't been paying attention; he couldn't afford distraction – he didn't want to use too much magic.

The shimmering patches were few and far between – and a unique ability he'd never been able to explain and Salem had tried their hardest to figure it out. That something was odd about his vision had been noticed when he was four and had called a spelled ball 'shimmery'. They'd wondered for months if something was wrong with his eyesight, but every test came back perfect – more so for his right eye than his left.

As far as anyone could tell, he was just an anomaly and that it was his right eye in question. Testing with an eyepatch had proven that.

It wasn't like he knew why.

Alan reached another fork and slowed down, casting a quick, unmodified _point me_ spell. It showed him due North. The middle of the maze, from where he'd started, had been Northwest. Alan took the right fork and moved on.

The next two turns were empty, and Alan passed them quickly, turned a corner and froze. A dark-haired man sprawled on the ground before him, his arm reaching forward in front of his drawn and pale face. Alan felt sweat break out on his back and he swallowed. This wasn't real. He wasn't even _here_. The only reason he would be... is if this were a boggart.

"_Riddikulus!"_ He cast, and the man was suddenly standing, leaning back to kick up into a handstand. Alan laughed, as he always did, and then cast a quick, sixth year banishment spell, sending the boggart somewhere else in the maze. Once it was gone, Alan allowed himself a moment's breath. He _hated_ boggarts. His godfather was still in _Salem_.

Alan moved on, and disabled two more traps and passed over several other spells laced across the ground. Walking past another branch off, he glanced inside and felt like he'd never find the end of the maze. Alan closed his eyes a moment and glanced around, shaking it off. He looked closer and there was a round rock sitting under the hedge in front of him. He scowled. There were a lot of rocks in here. He kept going straight, and thought he couldn't even see the end – and it would turn again, of course.

He turned around quickly. There was the round rock once more, ten feet behind him to one side of the path. He snarled. It was a damn pogrebin, he was sure of it. For a moment, he couldn't think of anything to do to make it leave him alone. Alan closed his eyes and cleared his mind, pushing the doubt aside. It was a creature, red-blooded and everything. It wasn't actually a rock.

Alan opened his eyes and aimed,

"_Reducto!"_

The creature shrieked as it shredded, blood grey in the half-light. It was nothing more than a dark patch on the ground, now. Alan turned away and swallowed bile before he continued on straight.

It was actually a dead end, the third he'd found. Alan checked his direction and turned back and took the path the pogrebin had started from. Several metres, and a turn to the right once more in, he found a golden mist covering the path ahead. Alan eyed it suspiciously. He though he'd run into something like that before... At Salem, across a teacher's door? Or was it the Headmaster's? Dominic Alfaerus used it to keep kids out, it had reversed the world on him until the man had hauled him out and told him never to bother him again.

Alan certainly hadn't tried that again. Now, however, he was older, and he knew how to break them.

He stepped forward into the mist and immediately felt a sharp tug on the soles of his shoes. He shut his eyes firmly, ignoring the vertigo, and forced himself to step forward again, to not waste time. The return of his centre of gravity hit him like a brick wall and he dropped to his knees, breathing deeply and reverting to his meditation – it was becoming habit. Once his heart stopped pounding, he continued forward and froze as a scream cut through the air.

Alan stopped, breathed... It had sounded like Fleur. He shook his head and moved forward. She'd gotten herself into this. The teachers were there to watch them, to keep them safe. It was her prerogative.

Alan was more cautious still as he moved around the next corner.

Ten minutes later, he was cursing himself for being a fool. He'd stepped over a tripwire and onto a pressure plate.

He was stuck in a net, hanging at the top of the hedges, twenty feet above the ground. He had a good look at the stands around the maze, and the stars overhead, but he was more interested in getting down then enjoying the view. However, the two story fall was a serious problem, and so was the spells on the net that cancelled all his attempts at magic.

Finally he managed to shift enough to get his switchblade out of his shoe – a Christmas gift from Velorian – and turned to glare at the ropes holding the net tightly shut overhead. He heard something beneath him and prayed it wasn't one of the other Champions and began to feel over the ropes to decide which he needed to cut that wouldn't drop him twenty feet. He found one and placed the knife against it before hie mind caught up with him. He looked down – and froze.

The skrewts had gotten _huge_.

One crawled beneath him, the sting curled over just a few feet below him. It was at least ten feet long – probably longer – with dark, shiny armour and pincers wider than Louis' shoulders. He held his breath as it moved beneath him, but it seemed determined to move far too slowly for his comfort. He wanted _out_ already!

Alan turned and stuck his wand outside the net before trying to cast a blasting curse. It didn't work, and Alan swore. The stupid net cancelled all his attempts at magic, dammit!

The skrewt still wasn't moving, so Alan finally gave up and put his wand into his wrist holster. He was done waiting. He put the knife back against the rope and quickly cut through several of the links on that side, creating a small hole. He was very, very careful; falling onto the skrewt would be far worse than falling onto the plain dirt. The dirt wouldn't actively try to _kill him_.

The hole was relatively easy. Getting out of it was harder. Getting down was looking fucking scary, because the skrewt still had not left. However, Alan was determined and stubbornly pulled himself out of the net and onto the ropes holding it up between the hedges. Once his head and chest were free, his feet still braced in the net, Alan conjured a rope ladder to get himself down to one side of the skrewt. He was about even with the stinger when the skrewt shifted in his direction; Alan felt like cursing. They never had figured out how skrewts sensed their surrounding with their lack of heads, but he wasn't happy to have it confirmed that they most certainly _could_. Stubbornly, he held onto his place and cast a reflection spell on the ground, followed by the strongest stunner he could to rebound off the patch and into the skrewts underbelly. The thing shuddered and dropped, and Alan got down as fast as he could and left in the direction he'd intended as quickly as possible.

The challenges were getting more and more complex, and Alan glared at the mess of wavering spells before and behind him. He was treading a path no more than a foot wide between all of them, and was glaring at the jump required ahead. Even considering the taxing spell to see magic that would normally be required made his head spin, and Alan was grateful – of a sort – for his 'free ride'.

Admittedly, the proper spell wouldn't be giving him vertigo or such a _headache_.

Alan made the jump and looked gratefully at the end of the shimmer ground ahead of him, where the shimmering path cut off before the corner, leaving him ten wonderful square feet to catch his breath. Alan stepped out and immediately around – and swore as several dark, flying creatures dove at his face. He stopped himself stepping backwards with difficulty and darted forward, stopping as he felt something press against his ankle. He threw himself to the side and down, barely catching his fall as sharp, tiny claws raked through his hair. An annoying buzzing hovered around his head. Alan rolled over and shouted a blasting hex, one after another. The claws retreated and Alan sat up and opened his eyes, hexing the next dark little thing to try dive-bombing him again and then freezing a small grouping overhead. He looked around himself once more, and feeling and seeing no other dive-bombs, he stood shakily – and nearly tripped.

Alan bent down to study his ankle and groaned: his foot was completely numb. He looked forward and up, finding the net hanging limp, high overhead as the cord looped lazily across the ground, it's spell spent. Alan tried a few counters and the third sent feeling rushing back in pins and needles, making him gasp and shudder slightly. It would fade, really... He just had to survive the next hundred paces or so.

Alan took another moment to scan the path before him, and, finding nothing hidden beneath or beyond the net, he continued on his way cautiously.

The next fork made Alan pause. He could go straight down the open path, or try this. A plant blocked his way entirely – it was curiously reaching his way, eager for the warmth it sensed there: Devil's Snare.

However, even as Alan looked he could see that it wasn't likely one, massive plant, but two – one on either side. It shouldn't be impassable – just difficult.

Especially if he was near the middle.

Alan cast Point Me and studied it carefully. He'd been circling around the middle, he was sure – not the most direct path, certainly. But even now, he was sure this would be the direction he wanted to go. However, it would be hard to hold the spell – or spells – long enough.

Alan decided to chance it and cast the fire whip, wrapping it into a circle around his head. He then drew Harry's wand from his left pocket, borrowed with permission this time, and cast the same spell again, holding the circle around his knees. He then walked slowly and carefully into the tangle of vines.

Oh, the plant – plants, Alan found, to his delight, did not like that. He walked on solid ground, but around him and even overhead, the vines thrashed and struggled to find purchase or a hole to drive through. It grabbed one arm and Alan dropped the end of the whip to scald it off – and did the same as another touched his back. It was a struggle to keep tabs on everything, and keep walking. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back and rolled down one cheek, and then finally he stepped out, stepped past the end and saw the open space of the centre of the maze.

Alan moved ten feet past the exit before he dropped the spells, tucking his own wand away and glancing around the space quickly. The cup was still in the middle, and the area looked deserted. The plinth was straight ahead. Alan cast two different detection spells as he sauntered closer, waiting for something to go wrong. Was that it?

He reached the plinth, staring suspiciously at the cup, and then glanced around. He saw movement, something large, black and hairy, and grabbed the cup out of reflex – he wanted out of this maze already.

As his hand closed, he felt a sickening tug in his gut and Alan's eyes widened even as he was pulled away from the spider. Nobody had said anything about a portkey; Alan hated them, had rarely used them before – he usually travelled side-along or by car or Floo. Surely _someone_ would have mentioned that the cup was a portkey.

He landed and fell, completely off balance. He hit the ground and rolled down a short decline, hauling up on his hands as soon as he stopped. He wasn't near a podium, or any of the judges. Cold dread coiled in his stomach, and Alan stood carefully, looking around... trying to figure out where he was.

The trees around him were dark, too small for the Forbidden forest. The horizon lacked the mountains of Hogwarts, and he was surrounded by tombstones. There was a low mist, and a hiss ahead of him. Alan's eyes locked onto it and it moved further away, the voice unintelligible. Alan looked around for it urgently, and turned to scan the graveyard again. He wasn't in Hogwarts; he wasn't anywhere near it. The low headache he'd had since he'd entered the maze began to pound in time with his pulse, and Alan had to stop and clutch his temples in pain.

Maybe the portkey would take him back if he grabbed it. He turned to find the cup again and came face to face with a withered little man, patchy bald, with a mousy, terrified face. Alan opened his mouth to say, do something – and red light sent him into darkness.

IIII

Alan felt the darkness pull back, and he blinked the haze out of his mind. He blinked again and wondered if he was even awake until thin fingers stroked the side of his face and seized his jaw. He looked into gleaming red eyes and jerked back. Something was wrong with his own face; Alan was blind in his right eye. His head connected with stone before he was free of the touch. Alan finally turned away and a high, mocking laugh erupted in front of him. Alan flexed against the ropes around his arms and struggled not to panic: he was encased from his shoulders to his hips – he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Frustrated, Alan turned to the front and glared at the red-eyed...something. He took a good look and recoiled against the stone again – the headstone, he presumed. His mouth was dry; the only time before that his right eye had gone blind was when he nearly died. What had _happened_? Where _was_ he? And... _who_...

He was still in the same graveyard, as far as he could tell, although why he was there, he didn't know. There was now a crowd around him, black robes, hoods raised, white masks... The balding man was standing amidst the broken circle around a large cauldron. He was the only one with his hood down, and stood caressing a gleaming, silver hand. In the middle was the pale, gaunt figure draped in black robes – bald like an egg, with a flat nose and red eyes.

"Alan...Prince, I believe?" The pale skeleton asked, his voice sibilant, hissing.

Alan glared at him. "Who's asking?" He spat.

The pale man paused and turned to smile at him, "Is it your American childhood that makes you rude, Alan, or do you really neither know nor care who I am?" He stalked forward and touched Alan's right cheek, barely below his eye. "I am the man who gave you this..." He flicked at his eye and Alan blinked barely in time, the burning pain making him wince – reflexive tears dripped down his cheek.

"You mean Voldemort?" Alan managed. It made a lot more sense, now, why Britons rarely used his name. Alan was too mad to care.

The Dark Lord slapped him. "Show some respect, child. You are the son of Severus Snape, aren't you?"

Alan paused and shrugged. "Don't know what you're talking about." He thickened his accent deliberately.

Voldemort stared at him incredulously and began to laugh. It spread through the gathered men – his Death Eaters? - an insidious and dangerous tide. Finally, Voldemort turned around and stepped closer again, his men cutting off immediately. "Do you really expect me to believe you?"

"I don't care what you think."

"You will, _Alan_, very shortly..." Voldemort's voice made his name sound absolutely filthy. "As you are aware, I see, I am Lord Voldemort."

"Anagram of Tom Marvolo Riddle." Alan cut in. "I _know_. You sure got ugly as you aged."

Red eyes flashed and the Dark Lord's wand levelled with his eyes. "_Crucio_."

His skin burst into burning, scalding pain, sweeping his body in waves. Alan thrashed against the ropes, grinding his skull into the headstone like raking it across nails, his teeth snapping open as he screamed, then slamming shut, grinding and screaming again as the pain didn't go away.

It faded in the same waves it had come in, and Alan dropped against the ropes, panting for breath. He was grateful it kept him from falling to his knees. He opened his eyes – useless right eye or not – as he heard robes sweep towards him. Alan looked up dully and then straightened as Lord Voldemort came abreast of him, staring intently into his eyes. Something slimy and cold skittered over his hard shields and the Dark Lord's eyes tightened.

"Intelligent, aren't you? And powerful. But then again, you _are_ Slytherin." Voldemort's voice caressed that name as well, putting in the deliberate importance that meant more than just the House. The Dark Lord ran his hand down Alan's face again and gripped his chin, holding him in place. "You could be great, boy. I'd make you my heir, to the Dark Order – my apprentice, and then, if you're worthy, my second. I can give you power, wealth, respect..."

"What use is that? I have enough already." Alan grinned. "I can be greater than you, second to _none_."

"What do you have that is greater than mine?" Voldemort demanding, his grip on Alan's jaw tightening – his assault on his shields stronger than before. "Do any of you know what this boy thinks he has?" He asked, apparently in general.

"My Lord," One man stepped forward, with arrogant, cultured tones Alan knew he'd heard before. "The boy was raised in Salem itself, with the Alfaerus, probably as a foster child. The family claims to be pureblood."

Voldemort frowned at him, relaxing away from his assault. "Claims? Are the Alfaerus not pure?"

"No, my Lord," He spat again. "They never marry muggles, but will take anything with magic, from mudbloods to vampires and werewolves."

Alan wondered whether they ever thought of inbreeding as a danger, but thought better of saying it out loud. He didn't need to add fuel to the fire.

The Dark Lord stepped back and lifted his hand to drop down, pressing forward overtop of Alan's right arm. A sting of pain made him catch his breath, and he became suddenly aware of the long cut down his forearm. Why had he been cut? What happened? All kinds of things could be done with blood, and none of the pleasant ones seemed likely for a Dark Lord.

Voldemort's grin did not ease his mind. "Bone of the Father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy... Thirteen years ago, you and your _squib_ of a mother wrest me from power, and now you have been _instrumental_ in bringing me back, Alan _Snape_."He spat in his face and slapped him again. The pain radiated through the right side of his face from his sore eye down. Alan felt the beginnings of nausea, and Voldemort turned back to his gathered Death Eaters.

"You may know I disappeared thirteen years ago, and," His head snapped around his men, "while none of you – not one! - searched me out, I will allow you to know _why_."

Alan was caught in his heated gaze once more, and struggled to straighten against the headstone. Struggled not to show any emotion in his face, and to keep his jaw still.

"This child... a boy, one that was foretold to bring my downfall. I went after him," The Dark Lord shrugged. "perhaps foolishly. There were other, lesser choices, but he had the least protections – the least safety. A weak witch of a mother, who stepped between me and her child. Her sacrifice bought her son his life, and overcame the curse – the Killing Curse – I threw thereafter."

Voldemort stepped up to him and grabbed his jaw again, tilting his face to stare at his right eye before throwing him back against the stone and sweeping out and around his men.

"As you can see, my experiments – my goal – to overcome death has proved true. Instead of dying by my own spell, I was ripped – painfully, unimaginably so – from my body and rendered nothing more than a weak shadow, meaner than the meanest spirit. I was less than a ghost, without form, but I was alive. I hid, waiting." He scanned over his men once more. "I waited for one of my faithful to search me out, to find me. Instead, I was bereft, left to my own power, which, in the aim of returning to a body was not enough. I needed a wand, I needed hands not my own. The only power I had left was possession, and yet all I could find were mere animals – animals that wasted away in my presence.

"Finally, three years ago, I got a chance – a possibility." Alan straightened, curious. "A foolish, weak man stumbled upon my shelter and he proved very useful... A teacher at Dumbledore's school, I subdued him to bring me here, possessed him to keep a careful watch as he tried and failed to carry out my orders." Voldemort turned and smiled. "I was thwarted by the last man I had expected, that year. Your father, Alan – Severus Snape. He came down to save your rival, who had foolishly wandered into the danger – otherwise," He gestured, relaxed, "you might have had a lot more...rivalry at school than you expected.

"My first attempt, the Philosopher's Stone, was foiled by Dumbledore's protections, and possessing Harry Potter failed as our _friend_, Severus, defended the son of the... 'love of his life'. I was forced back into hiding, and finally, at the end of last year, the coward Wormtail fled his continued persecution to my hiding place. What a curious affinity with rats, Wormtail..." Voldemort turned once again to stare at the balding man with the silver hand, who bowed obsequiously once again. Alan stared at him. Wormtail? Not the rat from third year?

"Alas, Wormtail," Voldemort shook his head. "Carelessly, he was seen in an inn on the edge of the forest I was in, and ran into Bertha Jorkins, a witch from our esteemed Ministry of Magic. But instead of being the end of his search, Wormtail showed a most unexpected streak of clarity and talked her into walking with him. He overpowered her, and brought her to me, and with her came a most unexpected windfall. Insider her mind, behind some very powerful memory charms... Bertha was the greatest treasure I had found in years.

"The knowledge came at the cost of her mind and body, rendering her useless for possession. She was disposed of, and Wormtail, of course, was ill-suited as a wanted man. I was forced to wait, to find a temporary body for travel, weak, sustained by a milk of blood and venom..."

Alan jumped as a snake rose from the grass and pressed against Voldemort's hand like a pet dog. Alan shivered. He was listening, thinking and trying to memorize Voldemort's words, but the fact remained that he wasn't safe... He didn't know what Voldemort wanted from him – why was he even still alive? Why was he letting him listen? Alan swallowed hard.

"Unable to gain immortality at the time, I settled for a return to my old power, my mortal body. I needed three most powerful ingredients, for this old piece of Dark Magic. One was already on hand," Voldemort looked back at Wormtail, who cowered as he clutched his silver hand. "The Flesh of the Servant."

Alan tried not to groan too loudly. He had heard worse puns at Salem, worse timing... He was sure of it...

"For the Bone of the Father, we came here, to his resting place. But finally... Blood of the Enemy. Wormtail wanted any wizard who hated me, but I, I had my sights set on a specific target. The boy who had destroyed me would bring me back."

Alan was caught in Voldemort's gaze again, and Alan jerked his chin up, stubbornly defiant.

"I didn't want a weak child. To destroy me, the greatest of wizards... He would not be a weakling." Voldemort began to pace in front of him, watching him carefully. "He would not be a child easily defeated by adversity, or challenges – he would rise above them. With the ruination of one of my plans – with the capture of my most loyal, Barty Crouch – I became more determined. What aid would Alan Prince need, to bypass all wards and standards? Why use such weak blood, when, if that were the case, any child would do?

"Wormtail placed his name in the Goblet, and without any aid... Alan Prince was named Hogwarts Champion. A Slytherin," He hissed, "who could be great. One to bring honour to his house... Without any aid – with adversity, in fact, and deliberate sabotage – Alan Prince bought his own victory, and, to make sure I could finish my ritual, Wormtail subjugated Karkaroff – a snivelling coward – and made the cup a portkey to bring the winner here. Lo and behold... it was Alan Prince. Alan _Snape_." Voldemort spat his father's name, his eyes glowing with hatred. Alan wondered where his father was, what he was doing. Did he feel the call? Was he even tempted to answer it?

"And here stands the child who forced me from my physical body all those years ago. Strong, yes; powerful, yes... But nothing compared to my strength." Voldemort cupped Alan's jaw again and looked puzzled. Alan deliberately kept his face blank. "Now I give you a choice... Choose between being my enemy, and being my second. Everything draws us together... the blood of Slytherin in our veins... shameful parentage... we are alike, you and I. Now...?"

"I really think it's a tasteless tattoo," Alan drawled, "and I will bow to no one, much less for _half_ the power I could have on my own."

Voldemort stepped back from him with a look of disappointment, and then lazily flicked his wand. Alan felt the curse hit and he squirmed, his teeth clenched. It was a minor pain curse, dark, but nothing like the mind-numbing pain of the Cruciatus.

"It is such a _pity_, Alan, that you refuse me. It means I must kill you." The Dark Lord gave Alan a falsely sorrowful look, and then lifted the spell. "But I will be kind, and allow you the honour – Duel me before your death. I'll allow you to die fighting. Wormtail, loose him."

The ropes faded away, and Alan focused on catching his balance more than moving anywhere immediately. A glance down located the pale wood of not his wand, but Harry's – the one he'd still had out when he'd taken the portkey. Alan looked up at Voldemort and slid his hands together. With one hand on his redwood wand in it's holster, Alan thought hard, '_Accio_'. The pale holly wand leapt into his hand, and Alan turned to face forward, unwilling to reveal that he had two wands. He just hoped Harry's wand liked him.

The Dark Lord's mouth curled into a smile, and Alan opted for show, bowing shallowly, never taking his eyes off his opponent, "I believe a duel starts with a bow, Lord Voldemort?"

* * *

A/N: Well, that was overdue. Life happened, sorry.

I'll set an alarm to put in the conclusion to Fourth Year in two weeks and yeah, then indefinite hiatus, but at least you'll have some kind of resolution. Best I can do, most sincere apologies for my distraction via college.

Fire & Napalm


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